Ten
by drinktea
Summary: A collection of pieces on the relationship shared by Hitsugaya Toushirou and Matsumoto Rangiku of Division Ten. Genres vary, may be interpreted romantically and nonromantically. Tentative completion.
1. Fukutaichou, An Afternoon, Shared Secret

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: I love the Hitsugaya/Matsumoto bond too much, so it was inevitable that I'd be writing something for 'em eventually. I might continue, if I get anymore ideas. Each piece may be taken romantically or non-romantically. Whichever you prefer. Thanks for reading! Comments are welcome.

-

1. FUKUTAICHOU  
"Matsu- Matsumoto," he muttered. Then he fainted, falling from the sky, ice-wings disappearing with the last vestiges of his strength. His body crashed into the ground, and as she ran to him on a broken leg, she heard the wet snapping of bones, and choked back a sob.

He was crumpled in a heap, the emblem on the back of his captain robe torn, and she hated that it seemed rife with symbolism. She crashed to his side, the pain from her leg singing. The blood had clot long ago - she was covered in brown splotches of her own blood. Streaking, fresh, along her bare arms was his.

"Don't you die on me, you bastard. If you die, fuck. I-I won't. I won't ever..." Tears were escaping her eyes now and then, drying in tight paths along her cheeks, spotting the sleeves of her robe. She wished desperately that she had taken rudimentary classes on healing - any shinigami could manipulate their spiritual power even the tiniest bit to aid the healing process. Fuck. Fuck. She had to close his wounds. Why wasn't the fourth division _here yet_?

Water ran disgustingly from her nose. God, ohgodohgod. He was on his back, a pool around him. The pool was a mixture of melting ice and blood. Blood was everywhere, why wouldn't it stop? How could such a small person bleed so much? "Don't. You can't. I'll lose you," she muttered nonsense, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because her captain was dying and the last words he'd said had been her name. Tears fell from her eyes to meet his closed ones. She pleaded, she pleaded, _she pleaded_. "Don't make it my name."

-

2. AN AFTERNOON  
"Has your hair always been white?" she mused one day, at her desk across from his. Her chin was cupped whimsically in her palm.

He was unsure of her sobriety, and expressed it by raising an eyebrow. "... No."

"What colour was it before?"

His brush moved across the paper, his hand lifted perfectly to not smudge the characters. "I don't remember."

"Then, how do you know that for a fact?" she challenged. Perhaps she really was drunk. Mildly inebriated at the least. She was leaning over her desk enough that he could look down her robe and see a good deal, if he were Kyouraku. But he never did, because he was Hitsugaya.

"Because," he said reasonably, but without interest, "No one has hair this white in their lifetime. It's unnatural."

She frowned minutely, in a fashion he supposed she thought was cute. He returned to his paperwork, re-reading several lines.

"Do you really think that? That it's unnatural?" she asked, and she sounded a touch more grounded.

He resisted the urge to sigh. He swept his brush over their shared inkstone and replied distractedly, "Yes."

"Hitsugaya?"

He looked up at her, his mouth a bent line of aggravation.

"Even if you think that," she told him softly, honestly, "I think it's beautiful." She held his gaze.

He looked at her, his visage unchanged. And all of a sudden, he straightened his robe, looked down at imaginary lint, and coughed, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

Matsumoto smiled.

-

3. SHARED SECRET  
Why did she stay with him? Why did he stay with her?

Warriors said it was a case of zanpakuto. Haineko and Hyourinmaru worked famously well together. They _meshed_, and though there were potential better fits for either, those fits hadn't been discovered yet. Hyourinmaru covered the sky while Haineko covered the ground. Their strategy in battle was formidable, and clever in many ways unexpected.

Feminists said it was a case of respect. Matsumoto's attire was not exactly conservative, and all men noticed. But only one didn't act. It was speculated to be an acknowledgement of her power and smarts, an acceptance of her character.

Philosophers said it was a case of like minds. The execution of Kuchiki Rukia proved this; that both rushed to stop the suspiciously quick murder, and rightly so. It was a sense of justice that they shared, that when paired together, was unshakable.

Why did she stay with him?

She said it something like this: _Hitsugaya-taichou is my taichou. I trust him. I know that he won't turn traitor because he loves Soul Society too much. Now, Kiyone, put away the microphone._

Why did he stay with her?

He said it something like this: _Matsumoto-fukutaichou is my fukutaichou. We were assigned to each other. I don't have to explain how I _feel_. Kotetsu-san. Ko-- get out of my office!_

Why, indeed?

Only they knew.


	2. Need & Love

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: There's a lot of things that go unsaid in this piece, but I'm hoping you can read this and fill some blanks in. Again, this may be interpreted romantically or non-romantically. I have a feeling that I'm going to write at least one obviously romantic piece though. What are your opinions? 

- 

4. NEED & LOVE   
Your head bounces once when you lean into the wall. You roll your shoulders a little. They feel almost creaky from recent disuse. The hallway is quiet now, the bustle of three (or four, you can't remember) hours before completely dissipated. There is you, and Matsumoto, who is in the still darkness of the room, and a member of the fourth divison, walking calmly forward. Heki... something. Your memory fails you at the moment. It's all you can do to stand, so it isn't surprising that you don't remember her name. 

"Hitsugaya-taichou," she greets you, bowing. It's all you can do to bow back. "Unohana-taichou requests that you and Matsumoto-fukutaichou take your leave. We must conduct some tests on Hinamori-fukutaichou." Her attitude is no-nonsense, her eyes are hard and grey and intelligent. You know she's not judging you for your height. Her respect is genuine. Yet, these facts reach you through a fog. 

"Hitsugaya-taichou seems tired," she states, and bites her lip immediately after, wondering if she's gone too far with her assumptions. It's all you can do to reply, maybe ease away some of that anxiety. 

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou and I will take our leave. Thank you," you tell her. You feel dull, like you're a sword that has been dragged along a gravel road. 

"Taichou," Matsumoto emerges from the room. They wheeled Hinamori in there an hour (or two, you can't remember) ago, from the emergency ward. Matsumoto was with you, at your left elbow, like she always is, and through all the craziness you were glad she was there. Your constant. 

"Matsumoto," you acknowledge. You're so harrowed, you've dropped the suffix. "Let's--" 

"Right," she picks up on it immediately. "And thank you," she turns to Heki just in time to smile. Heki seems surprised for a millisecond, then nods and smiles back. 

"You're welcome. You're good people," Heki says sincerely, and dips her head. "Hitsugaya-taichou should rest," she adds kindly. She knows you were discharged today. Matsumoto has kept up her polite, slight smile, and you're glad that _someone_ has enough social finesse to handle this. You can't even look at the door of the room, and choose to focus your attentions on the floor beside Matsumoto's sandal. Heki smiles briefly before closing the door to Hinamori's room. 

"Taichou," Matsumoto prompts, once the click of the lock is heard. 

You look up, and then the both of you start to navigate the hallways together. She's by your side now, instead of behind. 

It's entirely silent except for the occasional fourth division member passing by. They all have a calm look to them that must be Unohana-taichou's mark, and they all dip their heads in greeting. In the back of your mind is an urgency to get out, so that there is no more need of this - no more needing to keep up some semblance of social order. You couldn't care less if they bowed right now. You want to speed back to your quarters where you can be alone and sleep because you're tired and dull like a sword that's been dragged along a rough road and there'snothingyoucandotohelpher. 

You've left the fourth division by now and you want to take a deep breath, but you don't. It's dark outside. Figures of buildings are highlighted by what moonlight there is. The little stream circling the recovery ward catches moonlight too, plays with it. Your notice of this is fleeting. 

Matsumoto has been silent the whole time, and you know she hasn't cast you any looks of concern because you'd sense it. You wonder, idly, where her mind is right now. 

"Come on," she says, and it's almost a whisper. You're confused for a moment by the statement and the volume, but then she leaps off in the direction of the taichou quarters. It's clear that she has a plan, and you're almost sure you can't deal with it tonight. What is she doing? 

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," you say, catching up to her. You try to speak with some measure of authority, feeling slightly the hypocrite for bringing back the social structure into this. But your voice sounds like an echo, and with your ghostly voice disappears your guilt. "What are you doing?" 

She casts a look over her shoulder, and you see that she's smiling a small smile. Her hair is yellow-white in the moonlight, blowing all around her face with the wind, generated by the speed you're both travelling at. When you see her smile, the knowledge hits abruptly that you yourself have not smiled the whole day. 

You've stopped. 

She's pulled back the screen of your living quarters already and shucked her sandals by the entrance. You follow her in, allowing your usual composure to slip by mashing the heel of your palm into the hollow between your cheekbone and your brow, closing one green eye. Your sandals come off with more effort than you like. 

Matsumoto's already found your lamps and lit two of them, the one by your bed and the one against the far wall. You don't know what she's doing. 

"Matsumoto..." 

"Sit, taichou," she says softly, in the gentle, firm tone that only a woman can achieve. She's just lit the fire for boiling a pot of water, and shakes the match out. 

You don't sit, you stand, because she's your fukutaichou and she shouldn't be in your room. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou, please return to your own quarters." You bite back a yawn. You steady yourself with your right arm, bent against the wall by the door. It's hard to keep this up, so hard, because your body wants to give in to fatigue. 

She gets up from her position by the pot, her pink scarf fluttering as she walks over to you. When she's close enough that you can smell the scent of tea leaves on her hands, she says, "Taichou. Please." Her eyes are dark in this light, but you can tell all the same that she's serious. 

You say nothing, and mash the heel of your palm against your closed eye again. You somehow can't force yourself to look up. 

She spirits herself away again to tend to the boiling water. Steam is just beginning to rise. She lifts the ceramic lid with her bare fingers and adds some leaves. You don't know how she can touch it when it's so hot. You run your fingers through your hair. Your kneecaps creak a little, another sign of disuse. 

"Taichou," she calls quietly. She's set two teacups down onto the floor, and it hits you how long you just spent standing by the entrance of your own room. Her expression... you can't make it out. But you know from the tilt of her head that she's waiting for you, and she won't take no for an answer because she's Matsumoto. So you walk over, your tread across the floor feeling sluggish. 

Her tea is cradled in her hands already, her hands atop her lap. She looks at you. You're looking at her knees. 

She tilts her head again, in the way she always does before she's about to open her mouth. But no words come. Her lips are together in a soft line. Her hair hides the arch of her neck. 

You take the tea. You feel dead. You know you _are_ dead, but you actually _feel_ dead. You've never _felt_ dead. You lift the cup to your lips, and sip. It's very good, better than when you make it yourself. You look up, into her face. 

You don't know what you find there, but it's not pity, like you had expected. She knows what Hinamori means to you, she saw your face when you woke up, she heard you mumble her name, over, over, over. But it's not there. There is sadness, but there is strength and comfort and respect. It is all Matsumoto. Yes, Matsumoto. 

And Matsumoto, you realize suddenly, and a spring of guilt wells up at realizing it so late, and Matsumoto has lost someone too. She's lost a childhood friend as well. But because she's Matsumoto, she pushes on, and she's there for you, even if you don't know you need her. But now, you know. You need her. And you're not sure, but maybe she needs you. And if she does, you know you'll be there. Maybe she realized this before you did. 

She lets her lips curl upwards a little, her eyes still the same, and sips her tea too. You both understand. 

When you wake in the morning, you have a cup of cold tea in your hands. You fell asleep sitting up - your cheek is pressed against her shoulder and her cheek is pressed into your hair. You give a small smile. And sense of peace spreads through you, knowing that should you ever need it, you could wake up like this again, at the crack of dawn, next to her - next to someone you love. 


	3. Retraction, Room for Two, Taichou

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: I love writing these. Hitsugaya and Matsumoto are just too great. Again, situations may be interpreted however you wish. Thank you for reading! Reviews are wonderful. (P.S. I'm working on something more romantic for those who'd like to see it.)

-

5. RETRACTION, REFUSAL  
"Matsumoto-fukutaichou." He comes to a stop three paces from her, arms crossed.

"Hitsugaya," she replies, trying to mask some of her misery. But it's obvious.

"No," he says.

Her confusion triumphs over her sadness for a second. "What?"

He holds up a sheaf of papers. Even from a distance it's possible to tell that they're transfer request forms. And that they have been stamped with bold, red letters. "No," he repeats.

Her face contorts at the remembrance of what made her submit those papers. "But, Hitsugaya--"

"It's Hitsugaya-taichou. And no," he says again, lines deepening over his forehead. "You don't catch on very quickly, do you."

Her anger is ignited. "So why won't you let me--"

"Come on," he cuts her off softly, and whirls. He looks up ahead. "We have work to do, Matsumoto-fukutaichou." And he starts walking.

She hesitates. Then she follows.

After twenty paces, he throws the papers away.

-

6. ROOM FOR TWO  
"AHHHH!"

"Hey, Hitsugaya-taichou," greeted a slightly hungover, partially drowsy Matsumoto. She turned to the mirror to examine her eyes.

"Matsumoto! _What are you doing_?" exclaimed Hitsugaya, fumbling with his robe.

"Ooh, quite a reaction there, Hitsugaya-taichou. Am I really that attractive in the morning?"

Hitsugaya growled, turning his full attention on her, his quarrel with his robes over. "No, as hard as it is to believe. Are you really _that_ hungover that you can't tell that you walked in on me while I was going to the washroom?"

-

7. TAICHOU  
Hitsugaya sat at his desk at home, hunched over, chin propped up on his palm, finger tapping the side of his head. His night off, and he couldn't seem to think of anything to do. Rather unusual. Well, he could clean his desk-- never mind. Everything was already at right angles to each other, and stacked according to size. How about his bed? He could--

He turned in his chair to look at his bed. Nope. Made and everything.

Hmmmmm.

A sudden clatter from the other side of his door made him lift his head. "_Taichoooouuu..._"

Hitsugaya got up from his desk and went to open the door, already wearing his martyr face. When he opened the door, something promptly fell on him. He crashed backwards accordingly, but managed the most dignified position he could muster. "Matsumoto, get off of me," he said warningly, crushed beneath his face down lieutenant. Who, by the way, was very inconveniently between his legs. Good God, she was heavy. He smelt liquor on her breath and clothes. He scoffed. Figured.

"Taichou," she murmured into his robes, her hot breath flowering over his stomach. Wait. Something was wrong with her voice...

She looked up at him. Her eyes were huge and watery. He recognized that she had been crying.

Something caught in his chest. He crushed the subconcious urge to tighten his fist. "Matsumoto... what happened?"

She closed her eyes and let out a sob, wiping her face with the backs of her hands. "Hitsugaya-taichou... could I sl-sleep here? Tonight? W-with you?"

Her request forced his eyes to narrow. He took their combined weight off of his palms and urged her to stand on her own. When she did, albeit clumsily, he gripped her arm to provide better support. "Come on," he said softly, and led her to his perfectly made bed. He pulled back the covers with his free hand, and sat her down between the sheets.

"Toushirou-taichou," she said, as she swayed. There was a stain on her pink scarf.

He grimaced a tad, standing with his back straight, by the bedside. "Sleep, Matsumoto."

Her lower lip stuck out, but her eyelids drooped. "Hitsugaya," she breathed. He saw her mouth moving, but no sound came, whispering thousands of variations on his title, no doubt. She fell asleep right there, sitting up, his name on her lips.

Hitsugaya sighed lightly and buried a hand in his hair, knowing he'd have to lie her down so she could get a proper sleep. He made his way around the bed. Well, he thought, moving the pillow to cushion her head, at least his night off was good for something.

She hummed contentedly in her slumber. "_Taichou._"


	4. Everything That Matters

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Once an idea gets in my head, it doesn't leave. The idea behind this story stretches the imagination, but it's still entirely plausible. Comments and critiques are welcome.  
By the way, I'm entirely open to challenges. If you have a prompt or a scenario you'd like to see, send it in a review or message.  
Now, read on, and I hope you enjoy! 

- 

8. EVERYTHING THAT MATTERS   
_A flood of flowers on a porch. The flowers, half dead and covered beneath six days worth of snowfall. Anchored in every bouquet is a message. Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Matsumoto; Our deepest sympathies, Matsumoto; We feel deeply for your loss, Matsumoto. Past the porch and past the front door, a man weeps. His wail comes._

- 

"Matsumoto Rangiku, huh?" 

She nodded. She didn't understand how he could speak to her. No one spoke to her for the past two winters, and she certainly couldn't have broken the chain to _look_ for anyone to speak to. She only knew that she'd been chained to her house for a very long time, and that no one heard her call, no matter what time of day or night it was. Except for now. 

"Do you live here?" the boy asked her. He wasn't any more than ten. He had that innocence that came with youth. 

"I used to," she said softly, truly feeling like a ghost. Because that's what she was, right? She was dead. She wondered if this fragileness, this weak and wan quality about her, was characteristic of all ghosts. She knew that she was never like this during all twenty-five years of her life, yet this brittle feeling in her was all she could remember. She was soft-spoken now, dull and truly, truly dead. 

The boy tilted his head, a disappointed, angry kind of pout twisting his lips. "You _used_ to, Matsumoto-san?" 

She almost winced at his tone, his words. Children were all cruel in ways that they didn't know. She couldn't blame him for not understanding her connection to this place... 

"Yes. I don't live here anymore." She bowed her head slightly, sadness pulsing strong in her chest. She wondered if the young boy knew she was dead. If he did, he might not ever come back though. She wasn't sure how she felt about his visits. 

This was the third day he'd come to see her, a slim brown schoolbag hanging off of his shoulder. Today, she'd watched for his approach, and he walked with his friends up until two blocks away. Then he continued alone. He never called out, only talked when he was right in front of the steps of the walkway, stopping right in front of her position at the mailbox. 

He always came so close, like he wasn't afraid of her. He must've noticed the chain by now, grey and holographic, protruding from her chest. He was old enough to know that _no one_, save for her, was chained by their chest to their house. 

He stared baldly at her now, his eyes the strangest mix of blue and green. They were narrowed in concentration. He chewed slightly on his lower lip. He was missing some teeth. His youth was a reminder of what she could've had. Weariness dominated her days now, but sometimes she'd think of the life she had planned. She and Hakumei had wanted children. 

The front door of her old house opened with a short squeak, and the boy whipped his head around to see who would come out. But _she_ knew - only one person lived there now. 

He had become pale and sickly since she had died, but still, something in her chest would screech everytime she saw him. All his bones were angled for the ground. His handsomeness lay beneath an unshaven face, beneath his careless manner and dress. He used to care, before she had died and all the light had left his world. If there was anything she hated more than being dead, it was knowing that she'd done this to him. 

"Hakumei," she whimpered before she could stop it, and she knew that the boy had most certainly heard. But he did not turn to her. He kept looking at her husband. 

"Hey," Matsumoto Hakumei said. She only looked at him with sorrow, knowing that it was not she who he was addressing. His voice sounded rough. It was undoubtedly the result of not speaking to many people anymore. 

"Hello," the boy said in return. His hands were in his coat pockets, and he still stood directly in front of the walkway. 

"Did you need something?" Hakumei asked, and it seemed that he was pleading to be left alone. The clouds of his breath were long and whispy in the cold. Anyone would turn away when faced with such obvious pain. Anyone but a child. 

The blue-green-eyed boy took a step forward, onto the path. "Are you Matsumoto Hakumei?" he asked, and it sounded like a dare, a challenge. 

"Yes," responded Matsumoto Hakumei. She imagined that he would've looked surprised, maybe even delighted at the boy's attitude, two years ago. But he only gave a small lift of his eyebrows. 

The boy had taken both hands out of his pockets now, and curled them into loose fists, held a few centimetres away from his sides. His hands were red and white around the knuckles. He looked certain, earnest, those distinctive eyes boring deep. "I... I can see your wife." 

Her eyes widened instantly. She watched Hakumei over the boy's shoulder. Tears gathered threateningly in her eyes. 

Hakumei's mouth turned white, the way she knew it did when he was scared and didn't want to admit it. "I-I don't know what you're saying, kid. P-please, go. Go home." 

"Matsumoto-san! I talk to your wife!" he insisted, his voice rising. Then suddenly he barked, a cough, and another and another. He clutched at his jacket and scarf. 

"Hey! Are you alright?" Hakumei ran down to the boy, his hand coming to rest on the boy's back. "Are you alright?" 

The boy knocked Hakumei's hand off, still coughing. He said, crossly, through coughs, "Believe me! I speak to Rangiku!" 

Her name. Hakumei's mouth was white again, his eyes wide, anguish laced thinly over his face. She felt the pressure increase in her chest. 

"Mister! Believe me!" the boy coughed, and had to double over, a bare hand in the unshovelled snow of the walkway. His scarf hung from around his neck, brushing the ground, and quivered with every cough. 

"... I... I believe you," Hakumei said softly, biting his lip, hand rising again to pat the boy's back. This time, the boy didn't push his hand away. 

"Let's get you inside," Hakumei said, his concern obvious, hands on the boy's shaking shoulders. She watched this all, and felt the tears might spill seeing him act like a father. 

"No!" the boy shouted, and consequently started his coughing again. "We have to- we- your wife is right _here_." He took off his scarf, and coughed into his fist. 

Hakumei's eyes widened again. He pulled at his short hair in a fashion that looked painful. He took in several short breaths. "She... she is?" He cast his gaze in her direction, and she could've sworn he was looking right at her. 

There was no way that he knew what he was doing, but still. She wanted to call out to him. "Ha- Hakumei." 

"She... she said your name," the boy said. He turned around, to face her, and sat on a step, ignoring the cold. The cough lingered, itching at his throat. But he nodded at her, his gaze strong and understanding. 

Pain constricted Hakumei's features, and then he took a seat, one step above and behind the boy. He laced his fingers together. He stared at the footprints they'd made in the snow, and took a shuddery breath. "Is she... alright?" 

"I miss you," she told him, and she came as close as the chain would allow. "I miss you everyday." When she said the words, she knew she'd start to cry. 

"She says she misses you everyday," the boy told him, but the boy kept his gaze on Rangiku. Her hair had fallen across her face, and some of it stuck to her cheeks from tears. He coughed, quietly, into his fist again. 

Hakumei had his face in both palms. When he removed them, the skin around his eyes was red, and he looked into the snow. His hands were curled desperately around each other, up to his chin. His wrists were thin, and they matched the white of the snow. "I... I miss her too." 

The young boy kept a straight face, but it was not devoid of emotion. His eyes flickered to the house across, and to her, and to her chain. She looked at him and wondered - had this been his plan all along? Had he come to her... to help? She had to say something. 

"Thank you," she told him, her voice breaking halfway through. Her eyelashes were wet and stuck together. She felt like she was groping for something she would not be able to grab hold of. She could not hope to thank this boy in a way he truly deserved. 

The boy simply nodded. 

"What's your name?" Hakumei asked, after the air had stilled. It was exactly what she wanted to ask. 

"Hitsugaya Toushirou," the boy with blue-green eyes said. 

"Thank you, Hitsugaya-kun," Hakumei said, and placed a fragile hand on the boy's shoulder. 

"Thank you, Hitsugaya," she bowed, her forehead almost touching the ground. Her tears froze. 

"You're welcome," he accepted the thanks. "But the both of you still want to talk, right? Start talking." 

Hakumei smiled at the boy's attitude. And Rangiku smiled, and knew that no matter what, she'd find this boy and repay him with everything she could, when the time came. 


	5. Sixth Sense, Habitual, Scare Tactics

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned Hitsugaya and Matsumoto. Sadly, I don't._

Author natterings: Alright, you guys know the drill by now: situations may be interpreted romantically or non-romantically. The more obvious romance is coming next, by my predictions.  
Like I said in the last chapter, I like meeting challenges! Send 'em over!  
Thank you for reading _Ten_! Reviews are welcome.

-

9. SIXTH SENSE  
Sip. Sip. Not much longer now.

Books were safely out of the way. The paperwork was done early and had been sent off an hour ago. His ink and inkstone were tucked safely into a desk drawer. Last time they'd both spilt and the caretakers were _not_ happy. Neither was he.

Sip.

He put his teacup down. The entrance area was cleared. He'd long since learned to not place umbrellas or stacks of recycling by the door. Any possible sources of flame? No. Good.

About ten seconds left.

He stood, to make it easier on both of them.

The door burst open, a blur of blonde and pink and black hurtling itself toward him. Limbs flailed everywhere. The side of his face was crushed to her bosom in a fierce hug.

"Hitsugaya-taichou!" squealed Matsumoto.

Hitsugaya sighed and let the woman jostle him back and forth. He'd always had a sense for when she was happy.

-

10. HABITUAL  
Matsumoto growled. The noise was feral, ripping through the back of her throat in an unlady-like fashion, but she could care less. His reiatsu had disappeared completely. The trick was not unique, but it was definitely hard to acquire. For most, the training took years to perfect. Knowing him, though, it had likely taken a few months. She held still, trying to sense his distinctive presence through the breeze. There were slipstreams...

Nothing.

This was strange though. He never waited this long to--

The swords came together in a split second. Any later, and he'd have lobbed her head off.

At a stalemate, he leapt backward, his expression serious. His eyebrows were drawn down. His green gaze was glaring, almost glowing, as if his power were attached to his eyes. He was frowning enough to show slight disappointment. She'd reacted late - of course he'd be disappointed. But Hitsugaya wasn't the type of captain to nag and goad. She knew that he warned her with those looks, and she'd better step up if she didn't want to fall victim to his sword.

He rushed forward again, and she had her sword up instantly to block. But two paces in front of her, he disappeared. Shit! She whirled, stopping his strike with her own hit. She pushed him back over the smooth concrete, and he leapt away, acrobatic.

He didn't harp on her like a more arrogant captain would. He didn't taunt or employ distracting tricks. She often told him that he was too honourable in this respect, as the majority of opponents a shinigami met in battle would be haughty enough to jeer and jab. But he'd told her that he would not change his own style to simulate that of another, and she couldn't fault him for that. It was admirable.

They stared each other down. Halfway across the arena, he suddenly smirked, crouching into a defensive stance. He came at her with what he had and no less. She did the same.

She smirked back, and ran forward to meet him.

-

11. SCARE TACTICS  
"Matsumoto. Matsumoto-fukutaichou," prodded Hitsugaya. He stood over her still form, which was splayed out over the couch in his office.

"Mmrm," she replied, through her sleep. Her face was mostly buried in the couch.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," Hitsugaya persisted. He wondered if shinigami had blood pressure, and if so, if it was possible to have such a blood pressure rise in the space of twenty seconds.

"Mmmaway," it sounded like. Hitsugaya clenched his jaw, extremely uncharmed. Matsumoto sleeptalking was not exactly rare. Damn woman fell asleep on the job _constantly_. He'd have to order a less comfortable couch just to keep her awake...

"Mmmshirou," murmured Matsumoto.

Hitsugaya's ears perked. He furrowed his brow.

"Mmmmmm," she murmured, and the sound was undeniably lusty.

Hitsugaya felt his back straighten itself.

"Ohhh..." she moaned, shifting slightly. "Oh, _Touuushirou_..."

Hitsugaya's eyes widened to the size of saucers. Without a word, he walked stiffly to the exit and closed the door.

Five seconds after his departure, Matsumoto opened a blue eye. She smiled to herself, then said under her breath, "No one disturbs Matsumoto Rangiku while she's sleeping."


	6. Time That Has No End

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: I am pleased to introduce _The Romantic One_. Again, there are many subtle workings in this piece. That's how my romance works - it's subtle, but it's definitely there. The title of this came from a line from the song "Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Jason Harwell, which I listened to while penning most of this. Feedback is great! Thank you for reading!

-

12. TIME THAT HAS NO END  
The party downstairs was raging, music and laughter forming a very festive sound. The atmosphere was almost palpable, flowing out into the nighttime air. He had to hand it to Matsumoto - the woman knew how to throw a party. She applied herself to planning it so fully, and he hadn't protested because he knew they all deserved it.

But what a place to have it. The material world. It _was_ much easier for the humans though. The party was actually hosted by Inoue and Matsumoto, at Inoue's apartment. He remembered Matsumoto thinking it was _such_ a good idea to have the party at their original residence in the material world. Matsumoto loved the nostalgia of small things like that. They (Matsumoto and Inoue) refreshed the nameplate of the apartment, so again it read: Matsumoto Rangiku, **Inoue Orihime**, _Hitsugaya Toushirou_. Hitsugaya didn't have it in him to refuse.

Only a select amount of shinigami were here tonight, mostly just the ones who knew Ichigo and Inoue beforehand. Hitsugaya could see them all in his mind's eye. Kuchiki Rukia, perched on the arm of a chair in which Abarai was sitting, Abarai arguing with Ichigo over something inconsequential. Inoue hovering around Ichigo while attending to Ishida and Sado as well. Zaraki would be making regular trips to the refrigerator, Yachiru bounding along behind him, distracting him from a battle with Ichigo, not that the booze wouldn't be doing that already. Madarame and Ayasegawa would be doing something idiotic like accidentally wrecking the modern equipment in the apartment, Ayasegawa making occasional trilling comments about his hair to alleviate whatever tension would develop. Kuchiki Byakuya would look on with mild disgust, wondering why in the hell did he leave the haven of the Seireitei, but with Urahara and Yoruichi for some obscure brand of comfort. Kyouraku would be swirling around and deftly dodging furniture, occasionally rankling the older Kuchiki, no doubt. Ise would be sitting with Rukia, but probably watching Kyouraku to make sure he wasn't doing something stupid- or at least not stupid enough to draw too much attention.

This was all conjecture though. Hitsugaya couldn't really say what was going on because he was sitting on the roof. He'd go back down and subject himself to more of Kyouraku's drunken rambling later. Right now, he wanted to feel the cold night air.

The town was quiet tonight, as if it knew that the war was over and that there was less to fear. As if it knew that four of the gotei 13 captains were present and accounted for. Hitsugaya rather liked it. It was nice. The little lights in people's homes were pretty, if he didn't focus his gaze. But he didn't like that best.

The sky was perfect tonight. Not a cloud around. (And okay, Hitsugaya might've manipulated this a bit, but what good was weather control if you couldn't use it? Anyways.) He tilted his head up. The sky was black on the edges of his vision, but was otherwise a deep midnight blue. White stars shined steadily, a select few brighter than the others. He remembered that he used to link them together to make constellations, but he didn't do that anymore. It was futile to try to organize things like the stars. Who in their right mind would draw lines on the sky anyway? Maybe he was flattering himself, thinking that this was the true way to appreciate beauty. But maybe he wasn't.

There was a sudden clanking. He took his gaze off of the sky and looked to the edge of the roof, where the stairs emerged. He had an idea of who it might be.

A strawberry blonde head appeared, followed by a cheerful face. "There you are!"

"Matsumoto," he said by way of greeting.

She clanked her way completely up the stairs, walked over to him, and sat down. Her legs dangled off of the side of the roof. "Kyouraku misses you, you know," she teased, and dared to nudge him with her elbow.

He kept a straight face. Drunk, the eighth divison captain decided that the best form of entertainment would be to question Hitsugaya on his love life. That had not been a fun experience.

"So, what're you doing?" Matsumoto chirped, looking out over the city.

What was he doing? He honestly didn't know what to label it as - a connection with the cool, stillness of the night. So he merely replied, "Enjoying the party."

"Hey!" She hit his arm. She was probably tipsy, she wouldn't have hit him otherwise. "Are you saying my party sucks?" She didn't sound like she would've been very mad if he said 'yes'.

"No," he said, and tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was edging closer to him.

"Really?" she asked again, and stared at the horizon. Her hands were to the side, palms flat against the stone of the roof. She seemed so warm in this cold, even wearing her flimsy skirt and no socks.

"Yes," he said, and turned to look at the sky.

He found he couldn't revel in the sky as he first had that night. Somehow, it had lost its distant quality, cold and stark. The stars were no longer steady beacons, but winking, mischevious companions, buried behind and around black cloth. The sky felt almost as if it was smouldering now, pressing in low over his head, listening close.

He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at Matsumoto. Her gaze was focused on the sky, and the way she looked at it reminded him of when he was a child, overcome by how vast and full of beauty it was. He still believed that this was really the best way to admire it. The wind was blowing west, so he caught some of her scent. Her lips were slightly parted, and he realized that he couldn't smell any sort of liquor on her breath.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" It took him awhile to realize that her lips had been moving, that she was talking to him.

He turned to look at the sky again, and it was warm and intimate. It _was_ beautiful, even if it was different. "Yes, it is."

She tilted her head in his direction, her hair swaying slightly with the movement. She lifted her left hand, closest to him, and replaced it. He almost saw the warmth come from her.

"The sky seems closer tonight," she said, either to him or to no one in particular he couldn't tell. "The stars too. It's like they want to tell us something."

He was caught off-guard by such a statement coming from her. She didn't strike him as the kind of person who was philisophical or a believer in the indefinite. There was so much more to her than he knew. But he liked it, that she could still surprise him. Besides, her thoughts were running parallel to his own. He knew that he liked that even more. He cast a look of content at her, then up at the sky, and said quietly, "I know."

She let out a small, happy sigh. Then she moved closer, her front curling around to meet his, and her hair fell from her shoulder. Her hand was on top of his, and it _was_ warm. _She_ was so warm.

She kissed the line of his jaw, soft, careful presses of the lips. She murmured against his skin, so close to his ear, "They told me you were lonely."

He allowed himself to relax against her, closing his eyes briefly. "I wasn't."

Her other hand was at his left hip. "Well, _I_ was," she said, moving away from his face, and a rush of cold air hit his skin. But then she moved back in again. "They told me to find you here."

He turned his face to meet hers, and looked into her eyes. His hand rose absently to touch a strand of her golden hair. Her warmth was all around. And then he knew why the sky was closer, why the stars seemed to smoulder. A small smile came to his face.

She smiled back. He felt something pass between them, something that felt like it could close a chasm, if they ever needed it. And it felt good. She kissed him. He kissed her back.

Then a telltale clanking came, paired with an awkward cough.

Hitsugaya opened his eyes and looked past Matsumoto, who had twisted her torso back around, to the stairwell. Ichigo stood at the top, both hands in his jean pockets. He didn't look all that surprised. "Kenpachi told me to find you guys," he stated. "Should I, uh, tell him to buzz off?"

Hitsugaya looked at Matsumoto. Matsumoto looked at Hitsugaya. "Yes," they said.

Ichigo nodded. "Okay. Come down soon though. Can't hold that psycho off forever." And he clanked his way back down, a hand raised in farewell.

"Well," Matsumoto said, after he had left, a note of happiness in her voice. "Looks like the cat's out of the bag."

"I doubt it," Hitsugaya said, in a soft retort. "Kurosaki isn't like that." He stood, brushed off his pants, and held out a hand for her.

"Not yet," she said, looking up at him.

He held his hand out still. "Do you want Zaraki to come up here himself?"

She took his hand, but instead tugged him down to her. He rolled his eyes at himself as he sat. But sitting next to her and feeling her warmth again, he thought that she had been right to insist.

Their legs dangled off of the edge. Beneath them, the sounds of the party went on. They slowly looked up at the sky, and it was still pressing in close and private. The stars were winking secrets.

He moved his hand on top of hers. She linked their fingers together, and placed her head against his shoulder. He kissed her hair.

And they continued on.


	7. For Her 700th

_Disclaimer: Hitsugaya and Matsumoto aren't mine (even though I wish they were)._

Author natterings: Fulfilling antrax's request here. I had a lot of fun writing it. 'Twas a new experience for me, writing only dialogue. I hope you all enjoy! Feedback is great.  
(As an aside: will I be doing more pieces where they are obviously together? I have a drabble written, not much more. But sure. Got any requests related to romance? Send 'em over.)

-

13. FOR HER 700TH  
"Hitsugaya-taichooouuu."

"What?"

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Tuesday."

"Not like that! Today is something special--"

"I know, Matsumoto."

"Wow, were you being playful? Anyways, did you get me anything?"

"I'm not telling you."

"You're a spoilsport, taichou. It better be cool."

"Mmhm."

"... Taichou."

"Uh-huh."

"Give me a hint?"

"No."

"How will I know if I'll like it or not?"

"You will. Let me finish my work."

"So you _did_ get me something!"

"I never said I didn't."

"Hum-hum. Will you be at the party tonight?"

"Regretfully, yes."

"Yay! And you'll give me my gift then?"

"No."

"What?! Taichooouuu..."

"I'll give it to you when the night is over. Is your curiosity sated? I have to finish if I'm going to attend your... hoopla."

"Okay. Also, I'm giving you notice now that I'm not doing any work in honor of such a special day, okay, taichou? 'Kay, bye!"

"_Matsumoto!_"

-

"Ugh. Never give Ise alcohol ever again."

"Aw, taichou, it means she likes you."

"Shut up."

"It was only about five kisses or so. And only two were on your face--"

"Nngh. Do you want your gift or not?"

"Oooh, _now_?"

"Everyone's gone."

"Where is it?"

"Come outside."

"It's _that_ big? Wait, taichou, what are you--"

"Bankai!"

"_Oh my GOD._ Really? Really really?"

"You've only been asking for a decade or two."

"_Ahhh!_ Taichou, you're the _best_!"

"Get over here, before Yamamoto spots this and charges me with improper bankai use."

"Yes! Rangiku: one million, the rest of the world: zero!"

"Matsumoto!"

"Right! So where-- oh! Taichou, is it really proper to handle me this way?"

"It's Hyourinmaru _carrying_ you. How a _dragon_ could violate you is beyond my--"

"Wow, this is cold."

"_No._"

"You're cute when you're sarcastic."

"You're making me regret this already."

"Sorry, sorry..."

"Okay, step down."

"Do I sit? Stand?"

"Stand on the tail."

"And where do I hold onto?"

"My neck."

"Oh my, _Toushirou_. Are you sure you don't have a crush on me?"

"Matsumoto..."

"You know it's true. Anyway. Like this?"

"Not quite that close."

"What--? Oh, _right_. These really are a hassle you know, they get in the way of everything. I swear they'll give me a hunched back. They're not blindsiding you, are they?"

"... Not anymore."

"Oh, good. Now let's get this show on th--AAHHHH!"

"_Tootighttootight!_"

"Sorry! Sorry for squeezing so hard. It's just-- oh my. This is a lot higher than I thought we'd go."

"Lower?"

"No, no! It's perfect! Wow. My gosh, taichou, this feels amazing. If I were you I'd be flying everyday."

"That'd be kind of overdoing it."

"You're too reasonable. Wow! I want to stretch my arms out and feel the wind, even if it is really cold."

"Hm."

"Oh, thank you so much, taichou. This is the most amazing gift."

"Happy birthday, Matsumoto."

"You're sweet, Hitsugaya. We should plan something like this every year. Oh- hey, look! It's Soifon! HELLO, SOIFON!"

"Matsumoto, wait. Is she...?"

"Oh-- oh _God_! What _is_ that?"

"I think it's a... cat?"

"Faster, taichou."

"Don't need to tell me twice."


	8. Saviour, Dance

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

**WARNING: #15 contains suggestive adult themes.** I trust readers to use discretion and not read if they are not mature enough. I don't care if you like my writing, if you cannot handle this, DO NOT READ IT.

Author natterings: Okay. Important vocabulary to know: **kimono, hakama and haori**. Why? Well, I _might_ have written a request... or two. (Namely, the ones from Toushiroseyes and antrax.) Now, I use "hakama" and "pants" interchangeably, though I probably shouldn't. Interestingly enough, Hitsugaya's hakama/pants seem to come up a lot in these. Go figure. So, read on! Reviews are great!

-

14. SAVIOUR  
"I know this looks bad, taichou, but I didn't do anything!" Matsumoto exclaimed from behind the wall of metal bars. She had her hands up in a placating fashion, waving them back and forth.

Hitsugaya stood outside the cell with his arms crossed. He had his prize-winning unimpressed face on. "... Right."

She smiled weakly. "If anyone did anything, it was Kuchiki-taichou! He always has that cold, boring expression on, and I thought he needed some cheering up!"

Hitsugaya sucked his cheek in a little, then released it. "So, you decided that the best way to accomplish this was to force saké on him and strip him of his robe."

Matsumoto nodded feverishly, adding, "I let him keep his pants."

Hitsugaya's face was stony.

Matsumoto inched toward her captain and sat as close to the bars as possible. "You know, taichou, _you_ always have that face on too. Do you want the same treatment as--"

"Matsumoto," Hitsugaya cut in. "I came, as your captain, to release you. Don't make me change my mind."

Matsumoto grinned. "Are you sure, Hitsugaya-taichou? I could make sure to remove _your pa--_"

"_No!_" yelled Hitsugaya, faintly pink in the cheeks. He whirled around and began walking out the door. "See you later, Matsumoto."

"No, taichou! I'll let you keep your pants! Please come back! _Hitsugaya-taichou!_"

-

15. DANCE  
The last stroke on the last character of the last document of the day. The tenth division captain lightly blew on the paper to ensure that the ink was dry, then rolled it neatly and tied it with a cord. He'd send it out tomorrow morning. The inkstone and brushes next. He had used the exact amount of ink he had planned, so there was no mess. He went out of the room, ran the brushes under some water, and returned, drying them on a square of cloth. He stowed all his utensils away, placing them in the top right drawer.

Once he had closed the drawer, Matsumoto spoke up from her position on the couch. She had her chin in her palm and an elbow on the couch's arm. "Ready?"

Hitsugaya nodded, then walked over to the door and opened it. Matsumoto followed behind him.

"Hey, Hitsugaya-taichou, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, heading to the training grounds?" Hisagi greeted, falling into step beside them.

Hitsugaya let her answer. "Yup," she said with her normal amount of cheer. The heads of the tenth division kept up their pace and made no further attempt at conversation.

"Hm, cool, see you later," Hisagi nodded a farewell, recognizing that this was a private training session, disbanding from their group to talk to Abarai. They had these sessions once in awhile, and Hisagi knew better than to ask to be included when they got all quiet like that.

Continuing on now. Matsumoto's pace had sped up, unknowst to her, and her captain's hair tickled her chest. She tried not to gasp and slowed down. Hitsugaya said nothing.

The tenth division training grounds, and half of the combat stopped at seeing the two heads of the division walking through. Matsumoto called out tensely, "Get back to training," while they both walked in a straight line through to the very back of the field.

Hitsugaya unlocked the nondescript door buried in the far wall with a simple spell. He turned around to close the screen after Matsumoto passed through, and her finger caught a snag in his robe. Then she was moving again. He performed the binding spell with half a mind. A translucent blue field rose around the door. He turned around.

Matsumoto had deposited her scarf and kimono on the floor, and was tying her long hair up in a ponytail.

"Leave it," he said.

"Sorry?" she looked up at him, about to loop the tie around again.

"Leave your hair," he told her, walking toward the centre of the yard.

She smiled. "And why do you want me to do that?" she asked, clearly teasing, already knowing he wouldn't answer.

He didn't. But she let him be. He folded his white haori with smooth efficiency and placed it next to her pile of crumpled clothing.

He turned to face her, and she was ready, her hair up. "Tch," he said, and silently made it his main target.

"I know what you're thinking," Matsumoto said, her voice echoing in the emptiness of the grounds. "And it's not happening." He caught her smirk from far away.

Hyourinmaru's sheath disappeared as he drew his zanpakutou. He fell naturally into his fighting stance at the exact moment she fell into hers. His breathing was deep and strangely heavy.

She struck.

His breath snagged as their swords met, the steel sparking from the force of her hit. Her eyes were fixed firmly on his, and he knew to not let this distract him, but when she broke away he was delayed in reacting.

He jumped up just as she slashed at his pant leg. "Oi, Matsumoto. Straight down to business, aren't we?" he said with his usual economy. She only laughed freely in reply, swinging Haineko up for another attack.

He twisted to avoid her, and landed softly, low to the ground. To his right, from above. He moved so quick that she had no chance to block. He slashed her white undershirt from the right shoulder to the armpit, his stroke fluid and careful. He drew no blood. He spirited himself away, landing twenty paces from her.

Just as he landed she ripped the sleeve away with her left hand, Haineko still in her right hand. She kept her gaze determinedly on him as she dropped her sleeve to the floor. Her breath was coming in quicker than usual. She'd get him back.

She covered the distance between them in a wink, and made to cut at his leg again. Haineko opened a slash in the thigh on his pants before he ran. The cut was too short - not enough.

He came back at her, Hyourinmaru aimed at her waist. But she knew him better than to act against it. Hitsugaya didn't make moves like that. Her lips twitched upward before she flipped over him, Haineko cutting through his kimono from the neck to the waist. He jerked away in response, and she had positioned Haineko in a split second to cut sideways upon his retreat.

He stopped and spun, the black cloth whipping around with him. She had cut to his right as well, but his kimono was by no means as ruined as her shirt had been.

"Now, that's no fair," Matsumoto remarked, her chin tipped up.

"You didn't have to take off your kimono," Hitsugaya replied, his voice rough, his throat dry.

"Hm. She gave him a half-smile. "I guess we'll have to even things out, huh?"

He gave her a cocky half-smile in return, catching his breath. "Yeah."

Her smile turned predatory. A slight breeze ruffled her right sleeve, half cut off and half ripped. Her arm twitched in anticipation. "You shouldn't have said that."

Hitsugaya's eyes were half-lidded and his gaze was cool, but he was still smirking. "I'll say what I want."

Matsumoto lifted an eyebrow, her eyes narrowed in delight. She laughed, and it was throaty. "Oh, so you're like _that_ today. Well, I can't say that I don't enjoy it..."

Hitsugaya ran his tongue over the grooves of his teeth.

She struck again, a direct hit, and he knew that she'd duck lower while he still had the bulk of his strength behind his block, to finish what she had started at his thigh. So he pushed her back and flipped neatly over her shoulder, Hyourinmaru trailing over and around the fabric of her shirt. Her left sleeve fell. Then he cut at the tie in her hair, grinning to himself.

She growled and whirled on him, her hair swinging. He felt a heat prickling at the back of his neck at the sound, at her face.

Before he knew it, she had cut open the top of his kimono, a diagonal slice from the neck to the waist. She had gone through his undershirt as well. Coupled with the slash from before, his whole right side was exposed. The black cloth fell, the white drooped. He ripped it free.

"Now, that's a sight for sore eyes," she said, her voice low and close to his ear. She nipped at his ear. He struck in her direction, but she was gone and he hit air.

Two slashes, one in each leg at the back of her hakama as she ran, as he caught up to her, close, very close. "Your legs are a sight," he said softly.

She halted abruptly and he halted as well, with the intent of ducking and putting more slashes in her hakama to expose those legs. But she was faster, Haineko flicking out and cutting the sash that held up his hakama.

"Always the pants," Hitsugaya sighed, his breath shaking lightly as his hakama fell. He cut swiftly through the front of her robe.

"I don't like your pants," Matsumoto said, cutting through his kimono at the chest.

"I don't like yours," he told her, and cut her sash in the exact same spot she had cut his.

She bent down and tapped his ankle, so he sat on his pile of ruined clothing. She removed his sandals and socks with quick hands, Haineko already stuck in the ground behind them.

He released Hyourinmaru from his grip, the hilt feeling slippery with sweat. The metal made a chinking noise against the floor.

Matsumoto removed her left sock while he removed her right. Once they were done, she took his hand from her foot and placed it against her ripped open undershirt. He followed through.

"So, who won this time?" she asked, as he pushed her back against the pile of ruined clothing. Her question was muffled by the urgent, rough press of his lips.

He broke the kiss and looked right into her eyes. Then he smirked. "I did."

"Oh?" Matsumoto smiled in return. Then she caught his ankle between hers and flipped him over. "We'll see."


	9. Looks Like, One in a Million

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: They're in a relationship or they're not, whichever you prefer. Though I hope you do think they _are_ with the first drabble. Heh.  
Request status: open. Whether it's a single word or a full blown scenario, I welcome all challenges. I'm up-to-date with the _Bleach_ manga, so anything as far as that I'd be great with. However, this also means that I do not know anything about the Bount arc, which is exclusive to the anime.

-

16. LOOKS LIKE, SMELLS LIKE, TASTES LIKE, MUST BE  
"So, how was it?" he asked her once she had entered the office.

She crashed into him on the couch. "Terrible. I sweat so much."

He took a delicate sniff of the air around them for theatrical purposes. "It's true. You smell."

She hit his arm. Hard.

"... Nice. You smell nice."

She made a face, then admitted, "Yeah, I know I stink. I'm surprised you're not pinching your nose."

He shrugged. "So you smell. You're still you, right?" He raised his eyebrows at her growing smile.

"_That_," she said, "is why I love you." She kissed him full on the lips. She _tasted_ nice at least, she knew that. Just when he began to suck the slightest bit on her bottom lip, she broke the kiss.

Then she stuck her armpit in his face.

"_AUGH!_"

She laughed. Hard.

"_Matsumoto! Take a shower!_"

-

17. ONE IN A MILLION  
_What am I doing here?_

This wasn't right for her to be in the material world for nearly nothing. She was a lieutenant - she shouldn't have been sent gallivanting off to do _this_. What if Kurosaki-taichou needed her? Ugh. All the more reason to finish quickly.

Haineko sliced cleanly through the last bottomfeeder hollow, its form dissolving into thin air. She had been at this for fourteen hours, and no trace of the the true target hollow - Cubana. Its skill was unusual from what little information had had to say, and after numerous failed attempts by squads to eliminate it, she had been sent. The situation was, sadly, within the tenth's jurisdiction. She wasn't rattled in least by the bad track record. She _was_ getting antsy, however. Apparently, Cubana's mask was not immediately visible, the only major obstacle in killing it. She already knew how she'd kill it though. She'd had fourteen hours to plan, after all...

Deciding to take the high ground, she leapt up. Her intended lookout spot was above the high school, where many teenagers were spilling out the doors. According to intelligence, Cubana attacked large groups of people, so it made sense to station herself here.

Just when she was about to sit, she sensed a reiatsu on the edge of the schoolyard. It didn't have the mark of a hollow, but it was large enough that she should invesitgate. She wasn't about to perform a shoddy job here, even if she thought it was inappropriately handed down to her. If she could help it, Isshin's repuatation would not suffer because of her.

Upon her arrival at the edge of the courtyard, she found a plus. She knew it seemed unlikely, but she had to believe her eyes.

A young boy, no more than six, was gripping the chainlinks of the fence. He looked out on the soccer game with sharp, intelligent eyes, out of place on such a young face. His spirit energy was frightening for so young a child not even living in Soul Society.

She realized the danger in having him stay. How much longer before his monstrous energy drew out Cubana? She had to send him on. She allowed herself a premonition: he might even become someone legendary...

"Excuse me?" Matsumoto approached him, from the side. She didn't want to spook a child.

"Yes?" the boy said in a falsetto. She'd forgotten how _young_ children were. She didn't deal with young people very much.

"Are you lost?" she tried to ease her way into his comfort zone.

"I'm dead," the boy said.

She sucked in air sharply. _Oh._ So he knew.

The boy turned away from the game to her, lowering his arms. "You're dead too?"

Matsumoto nodded, and bent down on her knees, still keeping her senses alert for Cubana. "I am. There's a place with many others. Do you want to see where I--"

No chance to finish her sentence. She jumped up and twisted midair, the boy in the grip of her left arm. They had just dodged an explosion from the ground beneath the sidewalk.

"Shinigami," the hollow said, imperviously, arrogantly. Pebbles fell from its back. No apparent mask - the face was hidden.

"Hollow," she responded in kind.

"Shinigami?" the boy asked, hanging from her arm. She couldn't send him on now, not with Cubana right in front of them. And it was without doubt that the hollow had been lured by the boy's massive spiritual energy.

Cubana struck, not the type for introductions. All the better. She wasn't the type for bullshitting around either. She put the boy down behind her. She unsheathed her zapakutou and called out. "_Unare_! Haineko!"

The glinting metal of her sword disappeared, ash falling to the ground beneath them.

The boy's eyes widened from his vantage point.

"Oh, shinigami. Interesting skill you have," Cubana remarked. Then he lashed out with a long arm. "But I have tricks too!"

"Bakudou number four! Hainawa!" she called out quickly, her hands only fast enough for a low level spell. But it should be enough. She only needed to manipulate Haineko a bit more...

The energy rope whipped out to meet the hollow's arm, and wrapped quickly around it. But then the hollow's arm collapsed, and the rope fell, rendered useless. What! Cubana's arm was...

"My arm is collapsible, and easily reassembled," Cubana was laughing. "As is the rest of my body!" As soon as the sentence was done, his arm was back. He struck again, his arm clearly reaching for the boy behind her...

Matsumoto grit her teeth. No wonder so many had trouble. It was impossible to _cut through_ such a hollow to find the mask!

"Duck!" she ordered, forcing the boy's body down with her own. Cubana's arm whizzed over their heads. The arm doubled back, fingers stretched out, when--

Cubana's terrible cry pierced the air. As his body began to dissolve, Haineko appeared in the middle of it all, where the mask was housed. It was split perfectly in half, from the forehead to the chin. Matsumoto had reassembled her sword in the perfect place, right on time. Mission accomplished.

Haineko returned to its hilt, and she sheathed her zanpakutou. She got up off the floor, then offered a hand to the boy. He took it. She lifted him easily.

"What- what was that?" he asked.

"A hollow," Matsumoto explained. "They attack spirits like you."

"Your job is to protect spirits?" the boy asked, brows drawn low.

"Yes. That is a shinigami's job," she confirmed. Then she bent down to meet the boy eye-to-eye. "I have another job. Do you want to know what it is?"

"Sure," the boy chirped, shrugging like he couldn't care less. But she could see his interest. What a cute kid.

"I send spirits to Soul Society."

The boy's expression was confused. He squinted, clearly cross that he didn't understand. "What's that?"

"A place for spirits to live," she answered. She pointed to herself. "I live there, too."

"So... you're taking me with you?" he asked, stubbing a toe in the dirt, feigning nonchalance. She saw that spark in his eyes though. What a cute kid.

She rested a hand fondly on his head. "Not exactly. I have a different destination in Soul Society. But I will send you there. How 'bout it?" She tilted her head, smiling.

The boy seemed to deflate the tiniest bit, but he conceded, "O-okay."

She drew out Haineko, holding her zanpakutou by the sheath to reveal the stamp at the end of the hilt.

"Wait," the boy said, halting her by grabbing her hand. His fingers were so small, spread over her own.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'll see you later, shinigami-san," the boy said, and there was so much conviction in his face that it was heart-wrenching in the strangest way. What were the chances that they would meet again? _One in a million._

But she made herself smile. "Of course," she promised. Then she lifted her zanpakutou to his forehead, and gently pressed the end of Haineko's hilt to his skin.

He blinked, surprised. She stood.

"I'll see you," she said to him. He nodded once, then faded.

A hell butterfly came to her then, and she unlocked the senkaimon and stepped through. She heaved a sigh. _All in a day's work._ She got one last look out at the material world, to the sidewalk where she had crouched with the boy. _Maybe,_ she thought, before the doors closed.

Centuries later, Matsumoto would slide her eyes toward her Hitsugaya-taichou and wonder back on that day. Could he have been her one in a million?


	10. The Ghost Wall

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Not sure if I pinned down exactly what I wanted with this one, but it's as close as I can get. Again - romantic, non-romantic, take your pick. I appreciate all comments and critiques. Thank you for reading.  
(P.S. I'm not going to have internet access until the beginning of August. Until then!)

-

18. THE GHOST WALL  
_Sometimes, the best of bonds can only do so much._

-

Your shunpo is efficient, like always, carrying you speedily across the rooftops and straight to your office. You left Matsumoto on her own in the morning to watch over things, but you always feel strange when you're away from your division. Komamura is beside you, his stride longer but slower by mere fractions of seconds that give you time to take another step. There's a silence that charges the atmosphere between the two of you. It's almost as if he wants to say something, but cannot find the right words to say it.

It makes sense. It is the night after the betrayal, and Komamura and Tousen had always been close. You felt the silent accusation tonight, radiating from the millenia-old form of Yamamoto. Even though you all knew that there was hardly a need for fear of betrayal now, the possibility hung in the air like the singe of burnt hair. Yamamoto was careful with his words tonight, but spoke with cutting authority, and his voice was the only sound in the hall for forty minutes. Laced between his words, subtle and only detected by the best in people-reading, were words of caution. _Don't misstep. Don't tell the Soul Society secrets. Don't. Or else._

Komamura's mind is still on it, but from what you can see he has recovered. Komamura is reasonable and solid - what you see is what you get. You know that he will probably be called in privately to share any information on Tousen with Yamamoto. He seems to sense this too - his right eye squints every so often, as if thinking hard on what he will say. The whole circles of his eyes flash in the dark at the right angle, so very animal-like.

You recovered quickly from the miserable defeat by Aizen - three days they say. The spirit of youth, they joke thinly, trying to lighten the mood from the betrayal that has infested all of Soul Society. But then they see your face and they have been robbed of their jokes as well. You can't lift that black veil that has dropped over your features. Not when so many people have been hurt, irreversibly.

In that three days that you were no more than truly dead, there happened so much that you missed. Not physically. A number of the higher-ranking officers were bed-ridden in the infirmaries, sleeping. The ones who were well enough cussed over their injuries and woke everyone up and earned smacks from stern fourth division healers, on the places that were not bruised or bleeding. You woke up to a _"Shit, but I can't wait to cut that fucking smirk off fucking Aizen's face"_, blinking at stark fluorescent lights.

No, that doesn't really matter. What matters is what had shifted between you and others, and what had shifted for each of you, individually. Your days are tainted. An invisible pressure closes in behind you, and you feel the need to _know_. To know and understand what has happened, to fill in the gaps that your sleep made you miss. You missed a lot there, and you're playing catch up. You're catching up with Komamura, right now.

"War is inevitable," he is saying.

You look straight ahead, to where your next step will take you, and then you're there, in less time than it takes to think of your response. "Will you fight him?"

"If I must. There might be none better than I. Zaraki has also fought him," Komamura's words are sparse, detached almost. But he is resolute. You'd expect nothing less.

You've arrived at your office. Surprisingly, Komamura stops with you. He's so tall it's absurd, but there is enough distance between you that you don't have to crane your neck too much.

His expression softens. His voice is a low rumble. "You have many a battle to fight as well, Hitsugaya-taichou. Forgive the assumption, but many of these battles may not be on the battlefield." He pauses, to give you ample time to deny this.

You only nod.

"I have faith in your ability to handle every one," he says, and looks up at the moon. He sounds almost proud for you. But then he looks down again, right into your eyes. "I said 'handle'. I did not say 'win'."

The gravity of his words hits you in your most recently acquired weak spot. They whisper that maybe you can't understand. You know this wasn't his intention, but your brow scrunches almost immediately.

"Goodnight, Hitsugaya-taichou." He bows and you bow and then he is gone, moonlight through his fur.

You turn to the screen door of your office, feeling unsettled, like soil upturned from a garden. Your hand shakes as you pull the door aside. It squeaks, a sound entirely too loud for a night as still as this one, and you grimace. _I said 'handle'. I did not say 'win'._ Your footsteps inside are quieter. Without turning away from the dark expanse of your office, you slide the door shut behind you, your arm bending in a way you are unused to.

The light curtains are masked by heavier counterparts for the coming autumn. You make a tired note to yourself to thank sixth seat Kou.

The new curtains are green, a colour you don't object entirely to. They are patterned with small, precise diamonds. The cloth is heavy, opaque, unlike the lighter silk Matsumoto insists upon for the summer. You go along with it all because in the end, does it really matter what kind of curtains hang in your office? It matters even less now, with the disaster and the subsequent catch up of the last few days.

The curtains block moonlight from entering and falling across the couch, floor and table in the centre of the room. A thin stripe of blue-white light manages though, rippling over the form of Matsumoto. It's not usually disconcerting to have her fall asleep here, but at this hour she would have usually made it to her own rooms. There's that feeling again, of something not quite right. You haven't spoken to Matsumoto much on the betrayal, since as soon as you were awake and had the chance to see her you were whisked away again. It was frustrating that everyone was waiting for _you_ to wake up. You hate being a hindrance.

But now, seeing her curled up like a child, that _feeling_ springs up again. You hate not understanding. You have to...

You cross the room determinedly over to her, your eyes locked on her all the while. Even though she has uncharacteristically taken care of the bottles, you can still smell the liquor on her. You have no doubt that it had little effect on her. Her tolerance is famous.

Her hair falls all around her, messy tonight, scrunched against the couch without care. Her arms are crossed over her chest, as if holding her heart within her ribcage. Her exposed ankle, white and feminine, droops off the couch.

Your hand almost lands on her shoulder before you stop. No, it's not right to make her move now. It does no one any harm for her to sleep here. You simply have to wait until morning. You retract your hand, the moonlight falling over your fingers, then disappearing. You turn away.

"Taichou?"

Hm. It says something for your nerves that you didn't jump. Had she been sleeping at all? You look over your shoulder at her - she's sitting up, her feet still on the couch. "Matsumoto."

"How was your meeting, taichou?" She certainly sounds like she had been sleeping. Her voice is weak and groggy, with the teary quality of a little girl, though you can't say for sure if she's crying at all.

You half turn around. She's not crying. But she is rubbing at her eyes. "Fine."

She detects something in your one word answer, and presses further. Matsumoto - perceptive, even half asleep. Her usual manner does not convince you otherwise though, of what you suspect the betrayal has done to her.

"I'm tired from catching up to all that's happened," you confess.

She hums in half-hearted agreement. It is disconcerting. Matsumoto is not a half-hearted person. "And a lot it has been," she murmurs, looking out the slit of the curtains. The light washes out her skin, makes the whole of her face the usual colour of her eyes - ice blue. Though some of it is a trick of light, you know that other things about her are not - the way her chin sinks so deeply into her palm, the darker shading beneath her eyes. Her fingers curl into her cheek, and they shock you, how thin and they are. Is it possible to lose weight in your hands?

You know it won't be easy for someone of your attitude to breach the subject, but because it's Matsumoto, you can trust yourself a little bit more. You clear your throat. "Matsumoto."

She looks up, eyes a little wider, but somehow almost empty. She is expectant, waiting for you to say something more. She knows you so well. So why isn't she acting like it? Why is she acting like a- a _ghost_?

"Did he say anything to you?" you ask. The question sparks like a flame in an empty room. The second it comes from your mouth, you're not sure how you feel about asking such a question, but it's done, and you can't take it back.

Her features turn so melancholy, so twisted with hopelessness, that you clench your jaw on reflex. The look doesn't flit away. It stays anchored to her empty eyes and the tilt of her neck and you look at the floor, you're so ashamed. You're about to apologize, but she speaks.

"Yes. He did," she says, gazing out the window again, at the moon.

Your lips move. You want to say something. But nothing is appropriate. You _know_ you're close to her. You _know_ your relationship is strong. But still, you're standing no more than a few feet away from her, yet it feels like so much more. Invisible walls, thin but strong, stand between you, and a door will not appear in any of them. No matter how much you want, no matter how much you wish. There is no catching up to her and Gin and centuries of friendship. What can you offer her? You are helpless in the face of her hurt, and powerless to change it.

Are you foolhardy to want to? Maybe you are. Hinamori - Hinamori has hurt you. But she has not branded herself a traitor on top of that. And it is not just the betrayal - it is what must be done in the aftermath. How _could_ you relate to Matsumoto?

You can't.

_"I said 'handle'. I did not say 'win'."_

You resign yourself to it, then.

Matsumoto has turned her head to look at you now, and a bit of her warmth snakes out, makes its way to you through the air, broken though it is. "Taichou. Sit."

You sit on the floor, legs folded beneath you out of habit. The moonlight lands in a rectangle across your shoulder. You hear your own breaths in the dark, suddenly deep and wet. This distance...

Then a sleeve falls across your vision, and from behind you there is a warmth. She wraps both arms around you. Her embrace says she knows it too. "Oh, Hitsugaya," she says, and begins to cry.

There is not much you can do. Some battles cannot be won. Your hand rises to rest on hers. Her tears slip down the back of your neck. That is all.


	11. Undergarments 101, Too Hot, Come Home

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

**On continuity**: there is none. I write in different continuities, so the two "first meetings" that I've written between them are unconnected. Each time I write one of these pieces, I start on a fresh palette. However, you may connect the pieces in your own way. No one said you couldn't, hm? Sorry if this has caused any confusion. I guess I should've mentioned this lack of continuity earlier on.

Author natterings: Requests for "lingerie" and "igloo" (as I've deemed it) are up. I'm posting challenges in the order that I've written them. Again, the romantic/non-romantic nature of these are completely up to you. Thanks for reading. Reviews are great.

-

19. UNDERGARMENTS 101  
The beginning of Hitsugaya's demise came in the form of a pastel green nightie.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou!" Hitsugaya exclaimed upon seeing her walk into the room in what seemed to be underwear.

"What, Hitsugaya-taichou?" She was rifling around her luggage for lotion or handcream or something girly. Her back was to him, thus he was offered a view of her barely clothed behind. (The cloth cut off immediately under her butt, for heavensakes.)

"Please wear something more appropriate," he said, turning bodily away from her.

She might have snickered. "Does it fluster you, taichou?"

"Matsumoto..." he warned, still turned away.

She continued. She sounded as if she was dangling out bait for him to snap at. "Why should I wear something else? It's hot. And it's only the two of us..."

"What kind of excuse is that?!" he rebutted. How exactly did this woman's mind _work_? He _knew_ he should have turned her away when she asked for a place to crash for a few days. Apparently there was some kind of construction in the room next to hers and it was unbearable. Damn him and his sympathy...

"I feel that if you are going to use my bed tonight, you should be dressed in something more than... lingerie," he explained. Hmpf. Matsumoto sleeping in _his_ bed, wearing _that_? No. Definitely no. He, very rationally, bent down and lifted his blanket to rid it of any wrinkles.

"This isn't lingerie though, taichou."

He could feel his cheeks heat up. What the hell else _was_ lingerie then, if _that wasn't?_ He kept silent, observing his temporary bed on the floor, still turned away from her.

Thankfully, she seemed to give up on teasing him and returned to the bathroom. He heard her feet on the tile and the swipe of the closing door. He let out his breath and turned back around, convinced it was safe now. She must be changing into something more conservati--

Oh. God.

Matsumoto had opened the bathroom door and was now leaning against the frame.

In what appeared to be a bright red brassiere and matching panties. With lace. And garters. And _whatever those were._

"_This_ is lingerie," she said, looking very satisfied with herself.

He turned a red to match her (stupid, stupid) lingerie. "_MATSUMOTO!_"

-

20. TOO HOT  
It was another slow day in the office. Hot, too. They had opened the windows to let any breeze in, but this was hardly a relief.

Hitsugaya sat in his high-backed chair, trying vainly to not collapse from heat stroke. He refused to slouch over his desk, and so made himself all the more irritable. But at least he was irritable with good posture.

Matsumoto did not have this. She was spread languidly over the couch, as per usual. She had taken off her sandals and socks and pushed her sleeves up to her elbows, but again, it was all in vain.

"It's too bloody hot," she said, sounding to herself like she was drooping.

"Yeah," Hitsugaya replied. "It really is."

-

21. COME HOME  
She could build a home in his eyes and live her days out.

She might not live much longer.

"Tai-taichou," she muttered. She vainly lifted an arm in his direction. She felt tears welling up. She remembered death being like this. To die a second time...

"Keep quiet, Matsumoto. Keep your energy," he told her, an awkward strain in his voice. He packed the snow tightly around them, but the wind blew strong and hard. He had to turn back and forth repeatedly to keep the snow from building up on his face. She was sure that his ears were frozen.

She wished that she hadn't left her phone at Inoue's, so that they could contact someone for help. She wished that she were Isane, so she could communicate with anyone just by thinking and drawing on her arms. She wished that this blizzard would stop, so that she wouldn't have to trouble her taichou further, so that he could hear her when she said...

"I'm sorry, Matsumoto," he said to her. The words were ripped from his lips the second they were released, drowned out in the howl of the wind. She heard him, somehow. "I'm sorry I was late."

_Why are you sorry?_ she thought to herself. _I was the one stupid enough to get you hurt._

The hands of his gigai were bright red - blood, coupled with numbness. She knew it was artificial, but she hated to see it. Those hands were protecting her. They packed the snow in a thick wall, just big enough for her, even though she was going to die and it would do her no good.

The tears froze in her eyes. She blinked slowly, and they fell down her cheeks onto her stomach.

"Taichou... please--"

"What did I tell you about talking?" he snapped, frustrated with her. Frustrated with her weak voice and her numb body and the fact that she might die. She couldn't die. She was supposed to be invincible.

She felt that she could cry a thousand more tears, but not because his words stung. They didn't. She knew he cared. It was because she wasn't going to hear him speak like that again. In her final hours, she knew he would be soft. "Please, just..." - her eyelashes fluttered - "... just protect yourself."

He hated that it sounded like a last request. He turned away, brushing snow away from the side of his face.

In the biting silence and the biting cold, he built a home from the snow. When he had finished, they sat through the storm with a small ball of flame atop her chest. He wanted to keep her brain from freezing. But she had halted him, a hand to her chest. If there was anything that she would keep, it would be her heart. After a quiet moment, his eyes away from hers, he performed the seals, and warmed both.

He did not allow himself to sleep, for fear that she might sleep as well. He kept a finger to her wrist. Her pulse was weak.

In the morning, all was white. It was bright and blinding.

He turned back from the hole scraped into the side of the shelter. His hands were fading to pink. But then he looked at her, and it was burning beautiful greengreengreen. Her breath rattled. She touched his cheek, and something imperceptible shifted in his eyes. _Oh. Oh, my taichou. Oh, hello, hello._

She could build a home in his eyes and live her days out.

And she would.


	12. No Introductions

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Romantic? Non-romantic? Take your pick. I loved writing this one. I just had to do one like this. Forgive the diversion from request-filling. (I'm still taking requests/challenges, fyi.) Now, I hope you enjoy reading! Comments are welcome.

-

22. NO INTRODUCTIONS  
The first time they met, she said, "_Ooh!_ And who are you, you cute little boy?"

He tried not to glare. And he especially tried not to pout. No need to look even younger, here. "If you could, please do not refer to me as a little boy."

"But I can still call you cute, hm?" the stranger smiled.

He had a feeling that she would've reached over and pat his head if she could, were her arms not full of saké bottles. He tried his best to remain civil. "No," he told her, and walked past her to get to his division barracks.

"Well, maybe when you pass me in senority--" she called after him, "You won't be so cute."

-

The second time they met, her eyes lit up in recognition. "Hey there."

He scowled. Her again. "Hello." He fully intended to walk by, until she stopped him.

"So, little guy, did you hear what I said last time?" Her eyes were now glittering with mischief. She twirled and twisted the scarf draped around her neck without thinking. The pink blurred. From time to time he was offered the view of her sash, and attached to it was the metal clasp of lieutenant.

He fixed his eyes on it. "Yes."

She noticed his stare. She smiled. "So, you're going to pass me?"

Something flickered across his face for a moment. Then he gave a quick, neat bow and resumed his walking. "I can't disclose that."

-

The third time they met, she was looking for him.

"Is there a boy here? A small, cute boy?" She was flitting around from desk to desk in the seventh division office. All the officers were rendered speechless, either stunned by her or too frightened to point her in the direction of the boy who hated being called small and cute.

She began to lament. "No? Oh, he's just too small to be found-- oh!"

And suddenly, he was standing right in front of her, arms crossed. "What is it?"

"There you are!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together as if she'd discovered something wonderful.

He had to commend her for spotting the insignia on his kimono. However, he was growing increasingly aware of the numbers of stares they were garnering from the other seated officers. He refused to have his composure crumble. "Why are you here?" he questioned, a sceptical expression clear on his face.

She only gave him a knowing smile. "Looking for you, of course, boy. How'd you like to go out tonight? Kira's buying."

"Kira-_fukutaichou_?" came an astonished murmur.

He, however, remembered the crippling amount of saké bottles she had in her arms that first day, and knew what she meant. He didn't drink. "Sorry, no."

She smiled then, surprisingly, something glittering in her eye. This, too, was familiar, strangely enough. He'd only seen her- what, three times? And somehow he could already sense that this look in her eye was not a good sign.

"Alright, then. Some other time, okay, little boy?"

"Hitsugaya."

Her smile grew. "Pardon?"

"My name is Hitsugaya Toushirou, fifth seat of the seventh division. Please do not refer to me as a little boy."

Fresh murmurs swept through the office.

"Matsumoto Rangiku, lieutenant of the tenth division," she responded, over the hushed talk. "See you later, Hitsugaya-kun," she said. Before he could protest to her choice of suffix, she waved and swept out of the office.

The men fell on him like vultures on a carcass. How did he know her? Why didn't they know each other's names? Was she gorgeous or what?

He stood immobile and unaffected by their questions. Matsumoto Rangiku. And just like that feeling he had about that spark in her eye, he could tell that she was going to be trouble.

-

The eighth time they met, she was looking for him.

"Come out tonight?" she asked, as she always did on friday nights. He had come to expect the invitation, but every time he had replied no. But every time, she only smiled, that glint in her eye, said "Next time!" and whirled back around.

"I don't drink," he told her, not looking up from his reports. His fellow shinigami all stared, still. Apparently her novelty did not wear off.

"Too bad. Next week?" she smiled benevolently.

He looked away. She walked out, her scarf brushing over his paperwork. All his colleagues watched her go.

-

The tenth time they met, she was with someone else.

His hair was the same colour as his own, perhaps favouring silver. He was pale, but not sickly looking. And there was something ever-so-slightly _off_ about him. Third division captain. Ichimaru Gin.

"Oh, Hitsugaya-kun!" she called, though they were close enough that she wouldn't have to yell.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou." He bowed his head in acknowledgement, hoping that they could pass each other by with no further entanglement. Why he hoped this, he didn't know, because he already knew that Matsumoto was bound to smile and talk and invite him somewhere.

But when she didn't, just kept on walking with Ichimaru, he felt something odd and vaguely ugly bubble up inside of him. He went on, the distance growing between them with each step. Ichimaru's odd smile would stay with him the whole night, and pollute his dreams.

-

The 13th time they met, he decided to leave the script behind.

"Okay. I'll go out tonight."

He expected the answer to surprise her, maybe make her clap her hands, or beam with delight at having worn him down. But she only gave him that same knowing smile, as if knowing all along that he'd come around. "Great. Come around ten," she said, and pushed off of his desk. She had taken to leaning on it. "It's my treat tonight, so whatever I get you, you drink. It's insulting otherwise."

Talking to Hisagi over his third cup of saké later that night, he found out that it _wasn't_ Matsumoto's treat. It was Hisagi's.

-

The 14th time they met, he almost accidentally-on-purpose stepped on her foot. But he decided that it did no good to do so in retaliation.

She chattered on, leaning against his desk and getting them stares from everyone.

-

The 37th time they met, her zanpakutou was pulsing angrily at her side in the moonlight.

"How did a brat like _you_ reel her in that fast, huh?" the anonymous shinigami threatened him.

And before he could respond- "I don't know, why don't you ask the fish?" Her voice was steeped in cool anger.

"M-matsumoto-fukutaichou!" the idiot shinigami exclaimed, jumping away from him. "It's not. It's not like it--"

"Yeah, alright, okay. Let's get one thing straight here." She stared him down, her hand drifting dangerously close to Haineko's hilt. "You're expelled. As of right now. For reasons that I trust you understand."

The brawny man's face turned an interesting shade of purple in the darkness. It wasn't very difficult to not feel sorry for the nitwit.

"Leave," she ordered, hard iron coming through her tone in a threat. The idiot left, huffing his way to his (former) quarters.

As grateful as Hitsugaya was to be rid of such an annoyance, he couldn't help but feel like he was just saved, the damsel in distress. It was a disconcerting feeling...

The moonlight traced her furrowed brow and bounced off of the steel of her sword.

But then maybe it wasn't so disconcerting. She was a warrior, after all. And he shouldn't feel weird because he could've fought the idiot off anyway. He didn't _need_ a fight fought for him.

"So," she began, turning to him with a smile, as she so very often did, "You've reeled me in, huh?"

"A far-fetched rumour around the Seireitei," he responded, a look of genuine irritation across his features.

"Hm!" She smiled, looking up at the moon. "Sure, Hitsugaya-kun."

-

The 79th time they met, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"That doesn't become you," he said. Somehow, she managed to provoke jabs out of him, smart aleck commentary, truth dipped in sarcasm, and the like. He didn't know why. He did _think_ such things in situations with other people, but he never _voiced_ them. It must have been her own lack of inhibition that triggered something similar in him. Well, he thought to himself, as long as he only did so with her, it should be fine.

"Do you want to train?" she asked, unable to keep still. Her foot was tapping out some odd rhythm or another.

"Is that really appropriate?" he asked in return, eyes darting from one data sheet to its matching form.

"If you don't want to be Hitsugaya-_kun_." Her foot stopped tapping.

He filled in the last two lines of the form at his usual pace. He placed his brush down, sat back in his seat, and waited an appropriate amount of time. "You're the _tenth's_ lieutenant. Shouldn't this invitation be extended to one of _your own_ members?"

She looked thoughtful for a millisecond, her eyes skyward. "I guess. But you're cuter."

His mouth twitched. "Okay. If you insist." He was _not_ angry at her for still thinking that. Not.

Despite this outlook, minutes later, she was bounding gleefully away from him and Hyourinmaru.

-

The 161st time they met, she was grinning with more than her usual vigour.

He turned a baleful eye on her. The bravest of men would've quivered at that look, but Matsumoto only smiled more.

Finally, he gave in. "What?"

She nodded at the girl's back. "Was that Hinamori-fukutaichou?"

He leered at her, suspicious of her scary grin. "Yes."

She turned away. "I seeee."

-

The 445th time they met, he ended up shouldering a lot of her weight.

"I'm sorry, kun. _Kun_. I mean, Hitsugaya-kun," she said, blinking far more than she should have.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," he said dryly. God, she was heavier than she looked. "You are drunk."

"No!" she exclaimed, sounding rather sober. He knew better than that, though. "I am not. That's as false an accule- accusation as Yachiru's hair colour..."

"Mmhm. Where are your quarters? Actually, a better question: where is Izuru? Or Hisagi? Shouldn't _they_ be the ones doing this? _I_ wasn't even drinking with you all."

"Turn right. They're, um... making out. With each other! Hah! I'm funny."

He was unimpressed by this very unprofessional display. Still, it was such a left-field statement that he was fighting to keep from laughing out loud. "I'm... sure they're not, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," he said reasonably, trying to maintain his frown.

"So much _fukutaichou_! Stop with that!" she said loudly. Her fingers were pointing, poking. Almost poking his eyes, in fact. He was quickly annoyed again.

"You're a lieutenant. Until you aren't one, I will not stop calling you so."

"Hey," she said, serious suddenly.

He was wrongfooted. "... What?"

"When you're a captain, you won't call me that, right?" _When. Not "if"._

He furrowed his brow, taking them over a rickety plank. "That doesn't change what _you_ are."

"Hm, maybe not." She stuck out her bottom lip. Was she getting worse...? "But we're friends, right? You don't have to call me that."

He dodged. "Which way now?"

She waved the way with her arm. "Right?"

"That's left."

"No, we're friends, _right_?"

He turned left. "... Yes."

"So call me something else." Her head was drooping off of his shoulder. She corrected herself.

He clenched his jaw. No answer. He trudged the remaining fifty paces until she reached out her hand and dragged her fingers along her door. He slid it open. "Sleep, Matsumoto."

But she already was. But he saw that she smiled a bit in her sleep, when he called her plain old Matsumoto.

-

The 1087th time they met, he stood next to her.

"So this is your pet project, hm?"

How he disliked this man. His glare hardened, a facet of it sparking and challenging.

"He is not," she rebutted. "Hitsugaya is a genius. He did everything on his own."

Despite her confidence in him, he thought that she was lying. He _did not_ do everything himself. She had helped him more than she knew.

"Quite young, though, no?" Ichimaru smiled patronizingly.

She frowned. He was surprised. She always put up with whatever her friend said. Her patience was endless with this man. Or so he thought.

"Shut up, Gin," she said.

Ichimaru's eyebrows went up.

"Come on, Hitsugaya." She tilted her head fondly at him, and motioned for them to walk. "Let's go out tonight, hm?"

He couldn't help it. He cracked a very small smile. "Sure, Matsumoto."

-

The 3021st time they met, she was holding a tea set.

"Congratulations, third seat."

"Are you here to mock me? Because if you are--"

"I'm not. I'm here to drink tea with you. And congratulate you on your promotion."

"You know it's not--"

"I know it's not. But you'll show them all, hm? You have my recommendation. And if somehow recommendation is not enough, I know your bankai is quite the sight."

"... Thanks, Matsumoto."

"No problem, future taichou."

-

The 6284th time they met, he almost stabbed her.

"_Matsumoto!_"

"What, Hitsugaya-kun?"

"Where did it all go?"

"What, Hitsu-kun?"

He was too distracted to correct this abomination of a nickname. "My work for today! It's all _gone_! And I know _you_ had something to do with it!"

"Why, Hitsugaya-kun, I did no such thing. If your division somehow decided to get off of its butt and stop pouring work over _your_ head, it's really not anything involving _me_, is it?"

Despite the truth behind this, he glowered. "_Matsumoto..._"

"Give yourself a break, hm? Let those lower seats get what they deserve..."

"You don't do any paperwork yourself," he said. He would've normally restrained this comment, as he considered it a hit below the belt, but he was _very_ angry.

She was unaffected. In fact, she seemed to want to anger him further, since she leaned down, hands on her thighs. "Which is why you need to hurry up and claim your captaincy, hm? Come on, Hitsu-rin."

"_No stupid names!_" he roared. But they both knew that since he'd dropped the subject, they'd train together the rest of the day.

-

The 10187th time they met, she was waiting.

He walked in through the door with a white haori, the _ten_ bold on his back.

"Hm." She smirked. "Took you long enough."


	13. A Series of Firsts, Oath

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: 'Scraped knee' and 'sewer' are up! You like romance? Read it that way! You don't? Don't read it that way! (Refreshing, no?) I am open to writing more requests. As always, thank you for reading, and comments and critiques are welcome!

-

23. A SERIES OF FIRSTS  
The first time he got _really_ angry at Matsumoto was just after her leg was almost sliced off.

He finished off the three hollows in her stead, and got the trainees to go on ahead and notify the fourth division. The way he was barking, no one had the courage to do anything but follow his orders. In a matter of seconds, their shunpo had taken them back to the Seireitei.

The both of them alone, Matsumoto spoke up, her voice small and weak, "So glum, taichou."

"Don't be an idiot," he snapped, whirling on her to where she was lying on the ground. "Look at you. You're bleeding all over the fucking place. That hollow almost cut off your leg from the calf. You're lucky you only got away with a scraped knee."

"Because of my excellent taichou, of course," she said rather perkily for someone who had three broken ribs.

He ignored her comment. "This is the first time I've had someone under me so seriously injured. I won't tolerate this, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," he told her, stern and with a frown.

Matsumoto's chin softened a bit. She let head her fall back to the ground, gravel and blood in her hair. She closed her eyes regretfully. "I know, Hitsugaya-taichou. I'm sorry."

At this, he finally let himself look up to the horizon. Five figures were coming, and fast. "Good," he said. Whether this was to himself or to her, neither knew.

Matsumoto let out a deep breath.

"How is she?" Heki, one of Unohana's aides, asked him upon arriving. Unohana sprinted forward with the others to examine and carry Matsumoto back.

"Broken ribs, broken fingers, crack to the head, scraped knee, deep shoulder gash. That's all I can see," he recited.

"I meant emotionally. Mentally. How's her memory? Motor skills?"

"Perfect," he replied detachedly.

"And how are you?" she asked, obviously suspicious of his feelings.

"A few cuts. Fine." He was prepared for her _that's not what I meant_, but she seemed to have dropped it. She went immediately to Matsumoto's side and tossed him a disbelieving look, which he sensed but ignored.

"Get her back! Go, go, go!" someone yelled. They all flew away it seemed, so fast did they disappear.

He didn't follow. He'd visit later. After they had left, all alone, Hitsugaya slowly sat down on the ground. He put his head in his hands.

The first time he cried was then, just after his fukutaichou almost died.

-

24. OATH  
"Why do we have to do this, taichou?" whined Matsumoto, a shunpo step behind him.

"It's the tenth's responsibility," he told her distractedly, trying to navigate. Where was an entrance...?

"But why not let Kazou or Horaki handle it, hm?" she maintained. "Why _us?_"

"Because we're here already," he said, still on semi-autopilot. Hm. According to the system, there was a way in right about... here. He stopped.

She stopped at his side. "Well, you know I'm not elitist or anything, taichou, but shouldn't we maintain some hierarchy--"

"We're here, Matsumoto." Hitsugaya lifted a grate up and over onto the available sidewalk.

"What?" Matsumoto's voice went up about an octave. "It's in _there?_"

Hitsugaya raised an eyebrow. He told her slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a very small child, "Yes, Matsumoto. The hollow is in there." He waited for a response.

"But _taichou_. It's _icky._"

He rolled his eyes. "Go down, Matsumoto."

"You know, Kazou handles gross stuff pretty well. I mean, he hung out with Tousen for awhile."

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," Hitsugaya bit at the end of Matsumoto's sentence, "Kazou's tolerance for 'gross things' has nothing to do with hollow extermination. Now, _go_."

"Yes, it does!" she protested, making it a point to stay away from the gaping hole in the concrete. "I'm not suited to such an environment. My hair- it frizzes...'

"This behaviour really does _not_ suit someone of your rank, Matsumoto-fukutaichou. And I refuse to drag you down like some child," Hitsugaya told her, in full-blown parent mode.

She smiled. She _loved_ it when he got like this. It was too cute. She put on a pleading, pouty face in order to better play her part. "I'll go down... _if_ you promise me something."

Right then, the hollow tracker began beeping frantically in Hitsugaya's palm. His eyes widened. "It's coming up! We have to stop it before it gets to the surface."

"So you'll promise me--"

"Whatever! Yes! Let's go!" He leapt into the tunnel, a now willing Matsumoto covering his back. He sallied forward to track the hollow.

Behind him, Matsumoto smiled a secret smile to herself.

-

After the ordeal and back at the Seireitei, Matsumoto scrubbed at her hair.

Hitsugaya scrubbed at a back.

Or to be more precise, at _Matsumoto's_ back.

"That sewer was disgusting, hm, taichou?" She smiled serenely.

"Yes," Hitsugaya grumped, moving the washcloth over her skin.

"But _so_ worth it, since we finally get to take this bath together, _hmm?_"

He glared at her. "This is blackmail. Breathe a word to anyone and I'll freeze you from here 'til the next millenium."

"Now, you got your way at Healthland. We didn't bathe together then," she reminded him.

He only looked ahead frostily. "No one finds out. Or else."

She lifted a hand from the bathwater to pat his head. Her blonde locks trailed in the water. "Aw, Hitsugaya-taichou isn't so scary with bubbles in his hair..."

"Matsumoto..." he growled.

"Of course, taichou. No one but us will know," she promised.

So naturally, everyone knew by the following day.


	14. A Deep Ravine

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Inspired by brilliant authoress motchi's _Too Late_. I could just really see something similiar happen to Matsumoto and Hitsugaya.  
As always, this ficlet may be interpreted romantically and nonromantically. And hey- got a request? Message me, or leave your idea in a review. Thank you for reading! Comments are great!

-

25. A DEEP RAVINE  
The crowd was gigantic, each member swathed in simple black and white. The colours of mourning.

Matsumoto stood at the very centre of the crowd assembled around the memorial stone. It was diamond, for ice, and inlaid with lapis lazuli, for his birthday, and for his eyes. The blue-green traced the gentle, sweeping characters of his name. A master carver had made sure that all was perfect and suited to him to the last detail.

She stared at it dully. Her usual flamboyant scarf was gone, her neck was bare. Occasionally, a cautious glance was tossed her way through the prayers and commemorations. These looks of concern were tossed, too, in the direction of Hinamori. No one thought that she could see through her tears, blurring wildly and blotchy over her vision. But she could, as clear as glass.

And it was clear that Matsumoto was a disaster. Seeing the open grief on her pretty face, Hinamori felt that she should question her own grief. But then, it wasn't Hinamori who had been there when he died.

-

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou."

The sadness on her face was shocking as she turned. She didn't smile, she didn't laugh, she didn't try to compose herself. Her voice was teary - it rose and fell on waves of crying. "Hello, Hinamori."

The sun shone so brightly that Hinamori had to squint. She lifted an arm to shield her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Matsumoto. It must have been... terrible." Never before had words failed her so utterly.

"Oh, Hinamori." Matsumoto didn't notice. She tried at a smile, but her eyebrows came together in a rueful way. "Oh, Hinamori. Not as sorry as I am." Then she turned around.

"Wait!" Hinamori called, an arm suspended in the air. "If you ever want to talk. Just know... that I can be there."

Nothing for a moment. Hinamori's arm that blocked the sun quivered.

Then Matsumoto turned. "Thank you, Hinamori." And she walked away, dragging her sleeves along the wood planks.

-

It didn't stop.

Over the weeks, as the date of his passing grew farther away, it became clear that Matsumoto showed nearly no signs of improvement. She didn't know, or perhaps she was too grieved to care, but Hinamori kept an eye on her. Some days she was better, but most days she was the same or worse. She became a cloud, thin, pale and translucent, ghosting over the grounds. Whatever was said to her seemed merely to pass over her head, tries at tenderness made her wince. Once, Hinamori had stood in the shadow of a pillar, concealing her reiatsu, as Kyouraku attempted to console Matsumoto. She burst into tears.

"Rangiku--"

"I'm sorry, Shunsui. I-I'm so sorry. But he's gone." She took a stuttery, fluttery breath. "He's... gone." She sobbed into her thin, white fingers.

"Kyouraku-taichou," Hinamori made her move.

-

"You knew him when he was young. What was he like?"

They sat together at two in the morning, legs dangling off of the roof. The wind was light and merciful. Matsumoto's skin was almost sickly white-blue in the starlight.

"Stubborn. Protective. Brilliant," Hinamori told her. "He didn't really change at all."

"No," Matsumoto said. "Not at all."

Hinamori looked at her thumbnails. Then she looked unseeingly at the night sky. She felt a stinging in her eyes. "He never told anyone. But he loved chrysanthemums."

Matsumoto stared ahead. And Hinamori could tell, from the droop of her lips and the arch of her neck, that Matsumoto had known.

-

There was a storm. It was unusual for the Seireitei - a few minutes of hail, then snow, then hail, then snow. Hinamori found Matsumoto in her room, weeping silently onto her bedsheets. She curled up, like a girl with a stomachache (except Hinamori knew it was a different kind of ache), and shook herself to sleep.

Hinamori swallowed nothing, her eyes on Matsumoto. She looked so fragile. Her face was by no means serene. His passing ruined even her dreams. But Hinamori could understand. Sometimes, she dreamt too, and she found herself with tears on her face, not knowing how they got there.

That night, they both slept fitfully, cold saltwater soaking their pillows.

-

Once, just once, Hinamori entered Matsumoto's room without knocking.

Matsumoto was sitting with her back to the door. She was holding something in her arms.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou?" Hinamori asked.

Matsumoto whirled, startled. It said something for her senses - they had been blocked by whatever she had been focussed on.

Hinamori's eyes landed on what had been in her arms. A robe.

Matsumoto's eyes widened for a split second. Even surprised, her face was tainted with sadness. She hid the robe. "Oh, Hinamori. Did you stop by to help with the offering this week?"

"Yes," Hinamori replied, acting as if unfazed, and held out a slice of watermelon on a plate. "I brought some flowers as well."

"Good, good," Matsumoto said, standing up. She kept her eyes downcast. "I have mine here. Let's go." She walked past Hinamori to the door. "Come on."

Hinamori turned slowly, her eyes on the spot where Matsumoto had sat. But then she followed Matsumoto out.

The robe had been much too small for Matsumoto herself. And it was coupled with something white. A haori. Instantly, she knew.

Hinamori prayed that day to him, holding the incense to her forehead. _I've tried. It's so hard. Please. Help her let go._

-

An invitation out to lunch, to make sure Matsumoto was eating properly. Despite everyone's fears, she had not turned to saké as a way to fill the hole the death had torn in her life. Their fear was the dark circles beneath her eyes and the knobbiness of her wrists, the driness of her lips and the lack of spring in her step.

"I had a birthday gift for his 200th," Matsumoto said as she did not touch her rice. All she did with Hinamori was talk about him and it was frustrating enough that Hinamori felt that she could cry again. _Stop it!_ Hinamori wanted to yell. _Please!_

She tried, as always, to change the topic, but, as always, the attempt was fruitless. Matsumoto became silent and limp, the end of a candle wick sagging from water.

He had been, without a doubt, Hinamori's closest friend. But - Hinamori wondered - had _she_ been _his_? Matsumoto's face, her character, the lines of her skin, told a story, and in that story was a relationship with him that had been as golden as any had ever been. Matsumoto might have been his. He was Hinamori's, she knew. But _Matsumoto was his._ And she felt it flower - the smallest bit of wasted jealousy.

Hinamori knew it was wrong, more than heartless, to resent Matsumoto because of her grief, of her attachment to her own captain. But Matsumoto's unyielding misery was a burr, a thorn. It hindered Hinamori's own healing, it dragged down all their spirits. Matsumoto's grip on his memory, her constant forlorn look, all of it. It all prevented a moving on. It had been nearly half a year. Matsumoto would not accept her new captain. She pushed aside her paperwork, she did not go out onto the field, and when she did, her lack of attention was deadly. She was unravelling, a wreck of what she once was. Her status as lieutenant was in danger, and she did not seem to care in the least. She slept through it all. The only time life would spark across her face was when she spoke or thought of someone dead.

_I miss him too,_ Hinamori thought to herself with a flicker of annoyance, looking at Matsumoto slouched in her chair. _I miss him too. I want him back. But that will never happen._

"Do you know how he died?" Matsumoto said.

Hinamori sucked her breath in sharply and let it out shakily. "_What?_" she gasped for breath. What? No-- she couldn't--

"He was in the garden. He was looking at those damned flowers. And he was thinking and I came up behind him. He turned so he didn't feel the hollow grab his feet." Tears left her eyes, flowing fat and blobby down her cheeks. "The thing dragged him under. It left him lying there in the dirt. How could he call his sword halfway underground? It didn't grab me. It left me." Her cries shook the table between them.

And it was there again - the thorn, sticking in Hinamori's side. But she felt it crack under the weight of pity. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. She didn't ask Matsumoto to finish her rice.

-

A good day - Matsumoto was outside. A surprising day - Matsumoto was tending to chrysanthemums. They were a shot away from his stone. The light refracted and reflected over the voluminous petals.

"Good morning, Hinamori," she greeted.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," Hinamori responded, concealing her surprise. She stood back a ways, watching Matsumoto work, her thin fingers flitting over the leaves.

Matsumoto was on her knees, inspecting the colour and health of the leaves. She looked at their stems next, then their petals, almost a thousand it seemed, on just one flower. The garden was a blend of pure white and deep, regal pink. Matsumoto crouched low, her eyes focussed and clear. She asked, just loud enough for them both to hear, "Do you like them?" They were the first words Hinamori could remember in a long time that Matsumoto had said not related to him.

And Hinamori dared to hope.

-

Progress was made. Frighteningly fast, in fact. She seemed to cheer up in a matter of days, recovering from the months-long depression in the relative blink of an eye. But all were too afraid to broach the subject. They all felt it - the possibility that any mention of what had happened might cause a backsliding.

Matsumoto spent a lot of her spare time in the garden by his stone, the light thrown over her in crystals. She still avoided paperwork. She hardly talked to her new captain. But it was expected to come in time. Her hair was looking healthier, wavier again. Today she was in an especially good mood - she was humming.

The circles were still faintly there, beneath her eyes. Hinamori could tell that she cried in the mornings. It made her eyes puffy. She remembered that he had died in the morning, just after the break of dawn.

Matsumoto insisted that she be the only one to tend to the flowers, the only one to turn the soil and give them water. Hinamori kept a respectful distance. Eventually, Matsumoto had a bench brought in so Hinamori wouldn't have to stand. This action cheered Hinamori - Matsumoto considered the rest of the world now. Before, she spent her time in a bubble, shying away from the company of others, turning away from her friends. Slowly, she was becoming restored.

The tune Matsumoto was humming was strangely familiar. It was set in a high key, lilting and pretty. Hinamori couldn't place her finger on it.

-

The very same night, there was a storm. Hinamori rushed to Matsumoto's rooms, worried for her, remembering the last time there had been a storm. She knocked hurriedly. "Matsumoto-san? Matsumoto?" she called through the screen. No answer. She slid the screen open. It was dark. No one was home.

A sense of dread clattered through her ribcage. With a jolt, she remembered the significance behind the song Matsumoto had been humming that afternoon. Her breathing was heavy, and she didn't want to believe why. "No," she said, her voice lost to the wind. _No,_ she thought to herself. _No._

The feeling of dread led her to the garden. The heavy blanket she had grabbed from Matsumoto's bed kept her warm. It dragged in the snow, wiping out her footprints along the path.

The garden was a mess. Flowers had been torn at random from the ground. But it was easy to see that it hadn't been the storm that had done so. Letting out a cry, and clapping her hand to her mouth, Hinamori hastened to the stone.

That was why she had grown the flowers. That was why she had been so happy. That was why she had been humming that song. Hinamori knew that song...

"_Matsumoto!_" she screamed. "_Help! Unohana-taichou! Isane-san!_"

Matsumoto lay by the stone, curled slightly towards it. Snow was already beginning to cover her, collecting against her side, exposed to the storm, and her lips, ears and eyelashes were frosted. Through the flakes, Hinamori could see her smile. Buried, too, beneath the snow, were chrysanthemums all around, white and pink. The song... it had been a hymn for the dead.

And so, Matsumoto joined Hitsugaya, a whisp of blue light and a swirl of petals.


	15. Not Love, Out of the Ordinary, Cake

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

**PLEASE READ, ON PIECE #28:** _Have Your Cake_ contains suggestive adult themes, as in FOREPLAY. I have uploaded it separately from _Ten_, since I do not wish to up the rating of this entire collection as a result of one piece. If you want to read it, a link is provided by removing spaces inbetween: http // www . fanfiction . net / s / 3724049 / 1

Author natterings: I present "The Trio of Happy". Or "Relatively Happy". (Please tell me you understand the pun in #26.) As always, romance or friendship can be read between the words. Read on! I hope you enjoy. Comments and critiques are welcome.

-

26. NOT LOVE  
Now Hitsugaya knows that he shouldn't be keeping track of other people's affairs and that it just wastes space in his brain to catalogue this information.

But he's fairly certain that his lieutenant is in love with Ukitake Juushirou.

Which isn't a bad thing. She needs to move on from the disaster of Gin. It's too easy to hang onto someone down here in Soul Society because you "live" so long. And because of that, it's easy to wallow and fester. He's certain that Matsumoto can't handle festering.

She spends a lot of time with Ukitake now and he doesn't say anything because she's obviously so happy. (Even if Hitsugaya has some opinions on the man's odd behaviour.) She's picked up some of Ukitake's speech. Hitsugaya tolerates her calling him "Shirou-chan" about half of the time. Vein pulsing in his forehead, that's about when he starts to suspect that it's not love that has Matsumoto hanging around the thirteenth division captain. But he can't say what else it could be.

As a result of their recent relationship, Ukitake is around the tenth divison a lot more often. He's always bestowing some odd advice on Hitsugaya about his elemental sword or some such. He'll sit around their office with Matsumoto while Hitsugaya is the only one working, and she'll exclaim over their hair and how similar it is and Hitsugaya will accidentally smudge his report from jumping at their laughter. And when he tells them that they should stop laughing lest he mess up more of his paperwork, they only laugh more, only it feels like it's at him. That's when he has that feeling again, that it's not love, and is something that has more to do with _Hitsugaya himself_.

But it's not until she begins to laughingly give him random gifts - stockings stuffed with candy, mini-freezers (_ha, nice pun, guys_) - that he _knows_. He narrows his eyes at her. She's always enjoyed annoying him.

It's not love.

It's conspiracy.

-

27. OUT OF THE ORDINARY  
She was uncharacteristically sitting at her desk with a bunch of forms. Call the news crew: Rangiku Matsumoto was doing paperwork.

Hitsugaya slanted a _look_ at her from where he sat. Which was on the couch, sipping tea. He took another sip. Wait a second--

This was weird. _Matsumoto_ was _working_. And _he_ was _sitting on the couch_. What had happened? Had they been sucked into some alternate dimension? Feeling a little embarassed, he checked his tea for anything strange. It _seemed_ untampered with...

Wait, there was a-- never mind. Just a funny shaped tea leaf.

"Matsumoto," he said, feeling vaguely unsettled. He was perched on the couch now, as if the cushions would bite at any second.

"Yes, taichou?" she replied, moving her brush over the inkstone, twirling the bristles slightly to a point. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she did it everyday.

He felt quite foolish, and knew it showed. The back of his neck was burning. He put his tea down. "What are you doing?"

She moved the brush more, finishing off a character. "Work, of course," she said succinctly. She looked over at him sitting on the couch (while moving her brush away from her paper, of course). He looked like he needed to go to the washroom, if anything. "Are you alright, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"Fine," he said, his words clipped. He was looking spooked. "Just fine."

She narrowed her eyes, not assured of this. "Are you--"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to... go. To the... cafeteria. Goodbye, Matsumoto." He nearly hit the shoji screen on his way out (but of course he pretended like he hadn't almost broken his nose and continued on).

Matsumoto frowned. How odd of him. Oh, well.

She turned back to the old documents. They were duplicates of sheets Hitsugaya had filled out long ago. Scraps. She dipped her brush in the ink again, and finished off the elephant she had been drawing.

She was drawing a whole zoo, you know.

-

28. HAVE YOUR CAKE  
**Uploaded separately under the title _Ten: Have Your Cake_. It is located under my profile. Also accessible here, by removing spaces: **http // www . fanfiction . net / s / 3724049 / 1 **. Thank you for reading.**


	16. Itsumo Arigato, Honto Arigato

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite. The song _Thank You!! _belongs to Home Made Kazoku._

Author natterings: I present the "Gin" challenge, provided by antrax. This one refused to be written for awhile. I had to work on other pieces to make it jealous. Ahem. Yeah.  
I named this ficlet after a line from one of the Bleach anime ending songs, _Thank You!!_ by Home Made Kazoku. My english translation of it is not literal - I have switched around the positions of 'thank you' and 'always/truly' to make it sound better. I hope knowledgeable Japanese readers aren't offended.  
As always, this may be read platonically or not-so-platonically, depending on your preference. Thank you for all the positive feedback thus far! Comments and criticisms are appreciated!  
(P.S. I hate quickedit. Anyone else?)

-

29. ITSUMO ARIGATO, HONTO ARIGATO (THANK YOU ALWAYS, THANK YOU TRULY)  
_"Ichimaru Gin. Nice to meet you." She remembers thinking that he smiled like a cat._

_She rolled painfully to her side. "... Gin. That's a weird name."_

-

_"You fucking, fucking, fucking--"_

_"Now, now, 'Gaya. Is that really appropriate language for someone your age?"_

_"Shut up, you bastard!" He charged forward, running low to the ground on a broken leg in perfect practise form. So fast, so fast..._

"No!" _she roared, eyes flashing in recognition, sprinting forward. She had to save him. All that mattered was that she got there._ Let me get there, letmegetthereletmegetherein--

_Her sword pierced him as easily as it would have anyone. Except that he wasn't just anyone._

-

I don't know how, I don't know when. But I'm here again, after so many centuries. And all I can think about is the who and the why.

And the where, of course. I couldn't wipe it from my mind if I tried. It's a lot prettier, that's for sure. Someone has worked the soil in the last few centuries, coaxed the ground into spewing up some grass and flowers. The flowers are wild, small and scattered, like a messy watercolour painting. The ground still _seems_ hard and unforgiving under my feet, like it did before, scraping along my shins and elbows and ribs. If I squint hard I can picture his small head bobbing away beyond the bump in the road. But I don't know if I want to.

Standing up from my crouch, I can feel my legs tingle from faint numbness. I massage them gently to get the blood flowing into my feet. Somehow, I can't look away from that same bump in the road.

Maybe... maybe I should head back. Hitsugaya-taichou will probably have a breakdown in this post-war time. There's so much paperwork to fill out. Who died. Who didn't. Who takes what seat now that so-and-so is dead.

The sky's so blue. The air's so clean. I can't bring myself to budge. Has this place really changed so much? I remember it as big, bleak and unforgiving. _There._ A tree used to grow there, the branches hanging over the dirt path like a gnarled hand. _There._ Hanging low over the horizon was a cloud of dust and death, now disappeared.

Luckily, this road is as unpopular as ever, and no one's trailing down it to see me, the weird lady from the Seireitei, lingering around.

For all its changes, the past holds true. This is the spot. The very spot where I met my who and why. I entered the academy with him. I entered _for_ him.

I take a deep, cleansing breath.

Who would I be today without him?

He started it all. My path as a shinigami began the second we met. He did so much for me. He taught me to raid, to weave and duck around a merchant's legs while balancing a bag of apples. He taught me to close my eyes and see a sphere and throw myself into it and come out on the other side with a sword transformed. He taught me - or he made _unafraid_ to - walk my dirt roads, to face the past and see the truth in it.

And that was why it hurt so much to see him stand with Aizen and draw his sword and aim it right at me. He didn't aim it between my eyes, as custom dictated. He knew me too well to do that. He pointed it right at my heart.

_I'm sorry,_ he said.

When he died again, I could only watch. In the bloody wake of the war, I remember thinking to myself: _where is he now? Where is my why? My who? My reason?_

I couldn't answer myself for a long time.

I won't forget him. I can't. Whatever he did, however it ended, he was an important part of me. But I won't stir his memory, like dust motes into stale air. I'll lay it to rest. I'm doing it on my own. A simple saucer of saké and a bundle of flowers will have to do the trick.

I take them both in hand and walk over the little bump in the road. There's no trees or stumps to place them upon, so I find a patch of dry soil among all the new greenery and set the flowers down there along with the saké. As an afterthought, I pick up the saké and pour it over the flowers, letting the earth soak it up. It's so dry the wet patch is already beginning to disappear.

As the patch lightens, my eyes drift. So different. Yet, still the same.

"Matsumoto?"

My eyes dart over to the source of the voice - the next bump in the road. Cresting, just over it, is a mess of Hitsugaya-taichou's white hair. I smile to myself. What an omen. Either that, or a remarkable sense of timing. Maybe it's both.

"Taichou!" I call in return once I can see his face, which is surprisingly peaceful. "How are you?"

He makes his way over slowly to where I'm standing in front of Gin's offering. "It's not important, how I am," he says, and suddenly his face is serious. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," I say. I'm glad that it's the truth.

He looks at me carefully, then at the flowers, saké falling from the petals. Then his brow unfurrows and his mouth untwists. "I'm glad. I'm not bothering you?" he asks, and if I'm right, he's wondering if I wanted to be here alone.

He's considerate in ways that most take for granted. Or maybe it's just an understanding for wanting to be alone sometimes. But with him here, I know I'd rather not be alone. I shake my head in silence, but a smile blooms across my face, touching my eyes.

A small smile flickers on his face for a second, then disappears. He adjusts his shoulders a bit, then reaches inside his left sleeve. He pulls out a flower. He tries to kneel down, but his leg complains, and he winces.

I'm surprised. But I sense what he wants to do, so I take the flower from his hand and place it down on the dry patch, next to my offering. Rising, I tell him, "Taichou... you didn't have to."

"I know," he says, serious as ever. "But he meant a lot to you. I figured that it was the least I could do."

My lips screw up into a small, crooked smile. "... Thank you, taichou."

He's silent, and lifts his gaze to the clouds just above the horizon.

For a long time we're quiet together. My eyes are on the clouds now too, but I'm not really looking at them because I'm thinking.

Maybe I wouldn't have been able to outrun a full grown man or talk to Haineko or be able to walk a road like this if it weren't for Gin. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about him. I stopped it with him in that way. Back in Los Noches, I thought that I lost my reason when I lost Gin. But really, it was there all along, long before I cut Gin down. It was so simple, so subtle, that it had worked its way into me and become a part of me before I realized it.

I remember trailing the spike in taichou's reiatsu that day so long ago. He had released Hyourinmaru, which I knew meant I should come to his side, whether he ordered it or not. Thank goodness I did. I didn't think, I didn't doubt. I just _did_. And what I did was block Shinsou and Gin.

Protecting Hinamori meant protecting taichou. And that was what I wanted to do.

Gin had done so much for me. But so had Hitsugaya. He was there for me in ways that no one else ever was. I wanted to do something for him in return. He _deserved_ it. He still does. I told Gin that I'd fight against him. It hadn't happened. But I _would have_. And both of them knew that.

I could tell myself that it wasn't so much a case of choosing one over the other. But it was. Gin would always be close to my heart. But I knew what he was doing was _wrong_, in the deepest part of me. I had changed already, that new who and why moving my arms, pumping my heart. And I was beginning to see that Gin had changed as well.

Even though he had changed, he was still him. I had to lay his memory to rest - the Gin I knew, and the Gin I didn't. I'm letting myself come to terms with him, with the changes, with _everything_. And really, it's not as hard as I would've thought. I think I know the reason why.

I blink multiple times. If I think anymore about this, I'll go in circles. I take my unseeing eyes off of the sky and shake my head briskly.

When the spots stop dancing over my eyelids, I open my eyes. He's as still as ever. Not much of a companion for chatting. But you take what you get. A smile stretches over my face at this thought, and I almost laugh outloud.

He picks up on this and turns to me. "What is it?"

_You're it,_ I want to blurt. Instead, I shoot a darting glance at the flowers and back up at him. "Let's go back, hm, taichou?"

He looks at me a little reluctantly. It must be the daunting paperwork that has him grimacing.

"Don't worry, taichou. I'll help," I tell him.

He blows air out his nose, scoffing, but not quite. "Yeah. Right, Matsumoto." Regardless, he starts to turn, facing the road that will lead us back to the Seireitei.

I'm at his side. "That can't be good for your shoulders. Do you need any help?"

"I'm... fine," he replies, stubborn as ever. His eyes are steady, focussed on the ground mere feet ahead. He takes surprisingly long strides, the metal of the crutch making chinking noises on the dirt road.

I look at him fondly. He remembered this spot that I'd shown him so long ago, and made it out, despite his leg. I know he'd never tolerate me carrying him back, so I take his free hand and place it on my shoulder.

He won't look up at me. But his hand stays there, and it's good enough. His weight shifts again and again on my shoulder. He's gaining more momentum. "... Thank you, Matsumoto."

He taught me to mix clementine to cure a hangover, and kept it stored cleverly away from anything breakable. He glared at anyone despicable enough to spread rumors about my ascending in the ranks. He taught me to probe the air for reiatsu, catch its feel in slipstreams. He made me strong enough to walk this path. But more importantly, he's walking it with me.

Because, obviously, _he_ is my who and my why. My reason.

"You're welcome, taichou," I reply. "And... thank you, too."


	17. How Suggestive, Fukutaichou II

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Requests 'massage' and (what I've deemed) 'both ways' are up, both requests from antrax. Sorry they took so long. I had the hardest time with 'both ways'... perhaps it shows? (About the title... it's not connected to the first 'Fukutaichou'. I just felt that 'Fukutaichou' was a fitting name again.) Request for 'cat' should be coming in the chapter after next.  
As always, the nature of their relationship is completely up to individual readers. Thanks for reading! Reviews are great. (And I'm still taking requests!) 

- 

30. HOW SUGGESTIVE   
"This- ow- wasn't really what I- ow- envisioned- ow- when I asked you for a- ow- massage," she warbled. 

He was unmoved. Matsumoto had been relentless lately in her pursuit of him. Or, to be more precise, her pursuit of softening him up. She chose strategic moments to attack, like when he was tired enough to be pliant or most likely to be embarassed among his fellow shinigami. Once, she mixed cookie dough and asked him to taste it, right off of her finger in front of Kyouraku-taichou. What Kyouraku-taichou was doing in the tenth divison cafeteria didn't matter, all that mattered was that he was an annoyance, seeing as how he _cheered them on,_ saying stupid things like "don't mind me", "how suggestive" and "what a beautiful relationship". Hitsugaya, naturally, rolled his eyes and played the heartless taichou. 

Today she had tried appealing to his sympathetic side, getting him to agree that yes, the workout was brutal today and that yes, it was alright if she relaxed in his office for awhile because her feet hurt like hell. The frightening thing was that her tactics was working too... at least until she asked him for a massage. Then he narrowed his eyes. 

Trust Hitsugaya to ice over the mood in a room. The very faint beginnings of a smirk began to form on his face. "Well, your lower back was just too tense." 

She winced. "Oh, really? It could be- ow- the _pain--_" - her voice pitched slightly higher - "--that's making me _seize up_." 

"No," he replied, taking the time to make a mocking thoughtful face even though she couldn't see. "I'm _pretty_ sure it's just a result of the _terrible conditions_ you've had to endure." He moved to her shoulders. "But don't worry. It's taken care of." 

She squeaked. "Oh, taichou. You're... too kind. Actually- OW- could you move down again? It's... quite painful... for you to be standing- ow- right behind my--" 

"Of _course_," he said, laying it on thick, "forgive me." He gave her a good stomp, all in good fun, of course, before moving back. The cry she emitted was just a nice bonus. 

At that precise moment, the shoji screen to the office slid open. Standing slightly dazed in its frame was Kyouraku-taichou. He walked in in his slow, loping way, not having seen the spectacle atop Matsumoto's rarely used desk yet. 

"Rangiku, we should go out drinking toniii-- well, well." His eyebrows went up considerably as he tipped back his hat. A sly smile spread across his face. "What's this? A bit of tender, loving care?" 

Hitsugaya didn't reply in favour of jumping a bit, to which Matsumoto let out a strangled exclaimation. He'd have to do this "getting back at people" more often. 

Kyouraku looked on as Hitsugaya's feet negotiated the curves of Matsumoto's back. When neither the masseuse or massaged answered, Kyouraku began a long monologue on the beauty of a taichou and fukutaichou. 

Hitsugaya saw her close her eyes in defeat. He dug his heels in a bit for good measure. Her yelp was music to his ears. 

- 

31. FUKUTAICHOU II / BOTH WAYS   
It was approaching midnight in the recovery ward of the fourth divison. 

One Matsumoto Rangiku sat up in her bed, propped up by a multitude of pillows (some of which were borrowed from other beds). 

She was recovering quickly, so the nurses said. They all made comments on her swordsmanship and on the brutality she must've had to endure as the child prodigy's lieutenant. She would smile tightly and focus on the smell of the salve or the winding of bandages around her arm when it came to that. 

It was true - the nearly bone-shattering hit that had landed her here came from Hitsugaya-taichou. When this fact had been established in the emergency ward, it didn't take long for the rumours to develop and spread. He was young - the youngest captain the Gotei 13 had ever had. But he was also new - her captain of a short three weeks, and a fresh slate. Not much had been said about the boy genius, other than the fact that he was straight-faced, proper, and slightly on the frosty side. But it hadn't mattered overly much before. The tenth divison had been in sore need of a captain for over a decade, but none with enough strength, skill or will could handle captaincy. When the boy genius was nominated, he seemed a godsend. Evidently, this impression wasn't holding. 

She'd been tossed so many pitying glances over the last day that she'd lost count. She'd received so many unprompted apologies that she'd perfected her reaction down to the last detail. 

Matsumoto was well loved among the shinigami of the Gotei 13. Visits to her room were frequent. Food was offered. Gossip was delivered. 

The love the shinigami had for Matsumoto seemed almost to sharpen the contempt - and possible hatred - her captain was now regarded with. She was the injured party. She had been dealt a wrong. She had served with them for longer. She was _theirs_. An invisible line was drawn, as if he was somehow an _enemy_, and she had been pulled over to _their_ side. They were quick to stamp a more solid label on him as "The Cold Taskmaster". It had happened with such speed that she had to wonder if they had been _searching_ for a fault in the new captain. 

But they were wrong. 

Through all the sympathy and pity, they never knew that it was unneeded. Even worse - undeserved. And that was because if there was anyone to blame, it was Matsumoto herself. 

They had been training, getting a feel for each others' style. It was the first time they had ever sparred - he insisted on getting rid of the buildup of forms and documents the divison had accumluated. He had approached her after the normal workday had ended with an apology and an invitation. He spoke with a grace that only came with practise. 

_I'm sorry, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, that we haven't had the opportunity to work with each other on the field. If you would be so kind?_

To any other, it might seem routine. But Matsumoto had watched him work, had seen him speak to couriers and chefs and librarians in those first weeks. She saw that he fought constantly, and that it was an uphill battle. How difficult it must be to always have to prove yourself. How trying it must be to have the skills and knowledge and be doubted. He might be brilliant, but his age would always work against him. 

How could he hope for normalcy? How could he develop the social skills when people pushed back against him? For anyone else, extending an invitation was no feat. But he had to think - and she'd noticed. The weighing of words, the hint of warmth in his tone. But also, that natural bit of defiance, that stern set to his mouth. She had never met someone more deserving of respect. 

She accepted. On the training grounds she felt her excitement heighten. His zanpakutou was the strongest of the ice element and apparently devastatingly beautiful. She looked forward to seeing the dragon in battle. 

He let her take the offensive first. His dodges and blocks were efficient, reflexive and well executed. After some time, with a single nod from him from across the field, she understood, nodded back and fell into a defensive crouch. Her anticipation built - this exchange could only get better. 

She had examined his defensive style - whatever was lost by brute strength was made up for by speed. What he felt he could not block well enough he would dodge. If there was not enough time or space to move, he would somehow create it, then duck away, no worse for wear. His defense was stylish to say the least, but not made to last. The temporary quality of his defense was not surprising, considering the objective of any fight was to win, and winning required a clever, strong offense above all. 

So imagine her surprise when he ran headlong at her, sword raised. Not even a novice did that. 

Her sword came up a fraction of a second before his zanpakutou would've connected. Her breath hitched in her throat. He pushed off and lunged again in a second. Her surprise built. Her concentration strayed. She compared his offensive and defensive styles. They were too different. Something... was wrong. 

"Expect the unexpected," he said simply, as if reading her mind. He charged her from behind. She turned, late to react... 

And his blade struck her with such force that she felt the air leave her lungs. 

She let herself fall to the ground, knowing in that split second that resistance to a zanpakutou would cost her her arm. She landed on the concrete, harshly scraping skin from the side of her face. With her eyes closed, she could only hear the quick sheathing of a zanpakutou, and in seconds, she had been picked up and carried to the fourth division. He answered their questions in a professional tone, vowels clipped, as if not involved at all. 

But she knew better. She must have disappointed him. She knew from the moment that she hit the ground that it had been a test. The difference in his style had been a test of her skill to see through it. She had been too surprised to see past the fact that it was so radically different at all. He trusted her to see through that. He had confidence that she would block his hit. 

Yet, he had no _reason_ to do either of these things. He could have assumed that she had sleazed and cheated her way into the ranks, like so many others. He could have assumed that as her superior officer, there was no need to measure her strength, that it was obvious already. He gave her what so few commanding officers had ever given her before - trust and respect. Ironically, the very two things that he himself had to fight so very hard to earn. And she, in return, utterly failed him. 

She breathed slowly and minimally, conserving energy. She wanted to stay awake. It was stupid and irrational, but she wanted to be awake as much as she could, in case he came to visit. She wanted to apologize. The smell of the strong salve settled over her like a thick fog. She felt stiff from the days of sitting in bed. She wished she could heal quicker. 

The new, modern door swung open on its hinges. She looked over. Shuuei. 

"Hi," she said. Her voice was flatter than she'd thought. 

"Hey, Rangiku," he replied. "I just heard. You're okay?" 

She noted his clothes - sleeveless shirt, jeans. He had come right over after he'd finished his mission in the material world. His movements were light, minimal. Maybe he was trying to conserve energy too. 

"I'm okay," she replied, feeling thankful for such a good friend. What had she done to deserve such good people in her afterlife? 

"Is it true?" he asked, swinging his gaze from the dark window to her face. "It was your new taichou?" 

Her jaw tightened, just the slightest bit. The shame rushed quickly back to her, she felt it tingle on the sides of her skull. But she had to explain. Shuuei would understand. He was a fukutaichou too. If that wasn't enough, he was her friend, really and truly. He would listen. 

"Yes." 

His gaze fell. He looked to the dark window again, thumbs in the pockets of his modern day clothes. Was he judging? Coming to the quick conclusion everyone else had? That Hitsugaya was cold, distancing, that it had been all _his_ fault? 

"I can't believe that he could _do that to you_." 

He was. No, no, no. This was all wrong. She sat up. She had to stop this-- 

"Captains are always doing this. They just think that a second seat is like a tool, like we're just _expected_ to-- like we can just throw away our..." She listened to his words and just shook her head. 

He continued on, sadly. "It's not right. I know it's in the job description. But why can't there be more to it than that?" 

_There is,_ she wanted to say. But she couldn't give her thoughts words, not about how young he was and about the look on his face when he spoke to the librarian and about what he had given her, silently, before they had even stepped onto the battlefield. 

"Matsumoto." 

She hadn't realized her gaze had fallen until she looked up at Shuuei's back. "Shuuei, he's--" 

He turned. His face was serious, world-weary, maybe. Behind his expression hovered a million sights and sounds, some good, some bad. All important. He asked her, "A vice-captain gives their all for their captain, right? Why should that bond go one way?" 

And there was a pause. The whole room seemed to inhale. 

And then she smiled, a small flower blooming in a spring storm. "It doesn't," she told him simply. 

His eyes warmed slowly, and a smile appeared on his face, an isn't-that-something smile. His friend was lucky. "So... he's that good, huh?" 

She felt a sting high in the bridge of her nose, a sure signal of tears. "Yes. That good." 

Shuuei walked over to her bedside, taking his hand from his pocket. 

"It was _my_ fault. And he's getting the blame, when he did nothing to earn their resentment." The tears were flowing, she let them go, now that she knew _someone_ understood. Shuuei cupped her elbow while she tried to stop crying, the water smudging over her palms. 

"I just. I wish I could tell him that- that it doesn't matter what they think. Because _I-_ I think he's so worthy--" she stopped then, too tired and too guilty and too overcome by tears to finish. Shuuei sat on her bed, a comforting hand on her back. 

Then the door opened suddenly, the creak of hinges whining over her wet breathing. She looked up. 

"Hitsugaya-taichou." 


	18. At Every Wedding Someone Stays Home

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Sorry for taking so long to update, but I've just moved into my residence and gotten settled in and all that. But that's not interesting. About the actual piece...  
I wrote this after I read the poem of the same name, by Dannye Romine Powell. Though this piece is happier, Powell's is a million times more beautiful. I suggest you read it.  
As always, romance/nonromance may be read in this. And again, as always, I am taking requests.

-

32. AT EVERY WEDDING SOMEONE STAYS HOME  
He scrubbed the mat hard, holding it pinned between the counter and his hand. Soapwater and bubbles were sliding, falling onto the tile floor, but he couldn't find it in himself to care very much about the mess. He knew this was maintenance's job, but he had nothing better to do, and a lot of energy. He would've run down to the training grounds, but that would be admitting that he felt well enough to go outside of his quarters.

He moved the brush circularly, one, two, one, two...

He stopped at the knock at the door. Leaving the mat hanging from the counter precariously, and the brush balanced atop it, he dried his hands on a handtowel and pulled down his sleeves. He checked his hair, to make sure it was flat in the back, as if he'd been lying down for a while. Then he opened the washroom door, and made the few short strides to the front door.

"Who is it?" he snapped a bit rudely, grumbling before he got to the door. He undid the lock and pulled back the shoji screen.

"Good morning, Hitsugaya-taichou!" greeted Matsumoto. Her hair was up, a few lazy curls falling around her face. She was dressed in a red kimono, embroidered silver flowers sweeping the fabric. Her obi was silver as well, wide across her stomach. The collar of the kimono was surprisingly high - for Matsumoto at least. Very little of her legendary clevage was being displayed today.

"Hello, Matsumoto. What are you doing here?" he sounded like he was flat-lining.

She made a vaguely scandalized face, moving her head this way and that. He caught glimpses of flowers pinned in her hair. "Why, _taichou_! I'm here to head to the wedding with you! I'm actually surprised you're still home. I would've thought you'd be there already!"

His mouth was a dark, crooked line. He began to walk away from the doorway and further into his quarters, somehow not lifting his feet as high as usual. "And why would you think that?"

She stepped into the front room after him - dark, for some reason - and peered around. Had he just woken up when she arrived? He hadn't opened his blinds. She took off her shoes. She sniffed at the air - stale - and noted his drink - coffee - with distaste. "Why, because of Hinamori, of course," she said. She had intended for her reason to come out with more enthusiasm, but seeing these small details of his room had forced it out of her tone.

It wasn't as if his room was in any disgusting disarray. The garbage was in the bin, the candle wax had been wiped away from where it would've fallen. Paper was stacked neatly at the corners of his desk, the wood floor was smooth and free of dust. There was just something _off_, something very odd about it all. Even with someone living there, the place was... dead.

A little spooked, she sought him out. She trailed him to the bathroom. The lights were on in there, at least. When she saw that the door was open, she let herself look inside.

"Taichou!" she exclaimed, surprised. "Why are you... cleaning?"

He adjusted his grip on the brush and resumed his scrubbing. There was a red imprint in his skin from where he had been holding the handle before. "Why not?" he asked back, green eyes firmly on the weave pattern of the mat. He felt no need to put on his "sick" show for her. He only needed to worry about a select few...

"Because!" she said, the word coming out with a rush of air. She smelt like perfume. "Because it's your best friend's wedding!"

A little trickle of water leaked onto the floor, and he put up a hand to indicate that she move, lest she ruin her pretty kimono. The sleeves of his hakama trailed in the soap water, the wetness inching its way up the dark cloth. "I fail to see how cleaning and weddings are related," he replied, sounding as if he were partially underwater. He scrubbed very hard at a stain that Matsumoto could not see.

She looked at him skeptically, thinking on his behaviour. She knew him well enough to see that something was very, very deeply wrong. But she'd test the waters first. "Taichou... the wedding is in an hour and a half."

He suddenly stopped scrubbing. She kept her eyes on him, letting him know she was watching. But he simply moved the mat into the bathtub and turned on the tap, rinsing it of bubbles. "I know," he said, crouched over the tub.

She did nothing except twist her lips, realizing shortly after that she ruined her lipgloss. But that didn't matter. Not now, anyway. "Taichou."

He pretended not to hear her over the gush of the water. Couldn't she just... go? Go to the... _wedding?_

"_Taichou,_" she ground out. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She sounded as if she were teetering between calm and furious. There were no tremors - Matsumoto was never tremulous - but he recognized the tone of voice.

He reached out to shut off the flow of water. Then he turned around reluctantly, letting his impatience show. "What, Matsumoto?"

"Taichou. Do you _not want to go?_"

He seemed almost to snort. _Not want to go? Not want to go? What kind of thing was that for the best friend of the bride to do?_ And yet...

He sighed a sigh, short and small, as if anymore might cause him to break. He tried to keep his eyes dead, but they wouldn't obey. Anger and hate and hurt shifted in and out. "Do I not want to go," he repeated. He swallowed nothing. His lips parted, almost to speak, but he could find nothing to say.

Matsumoto watched him, a chord struck in her. His face... it was like that of a lost child's. Scared. Hopeless. But also petulant. Disbelieving, of how someone they had cared so much for could leave them behind.

She leaned carefully forward across the divide between the bathroom and the hallway, a softness in her already. "What are you saying, Hitsugaya-taichou? Are you saying that you don't want this for her? She's so happy--"

"You think I don't know that?" His words snapped out low and quick. He rubbed a temple with wet fingers. He saw a possible phantom moment in his mind - the crack of his hand across her face - but it wasn't Matsumoto who he wanted to strike. His anger was obscured by a thin film of guilt for even thinking it, however unintentional. He closed his mouth. It replayed in his mind, only this time it was Hinamori. Then it was--

"If you do, there's no reason to not go. You were happy enough when they announced their engagement, weren't you?" Matsumoto was shaking her head at his curveball behaviour. Her hair was falling out of its twist.

He stared up at her, and his face morphed on its own into a mask of pain. Then he pushed past her, mindful of her kimono, even in his state.

She followed him to his bedroom, devoid of light as well. He sat down on his bed, his fingers immediately going to his temples, massaging. He clenched his jaw, the force on his teeth growing. She watched him scornfully, then crossed the threshold. She stopped a mere two paces from his place at the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

"You weren't happy for them when they got engaged," she stated.

He didn't say anything. She took it as an affirmation.

"So why. Why, why, _why_," - she uncrossed her arms, throwing them up defeatedly into the air - "Why didn't you say anything?"

He closed his eyes tight enough to crease his brow. Why did Matsumoto have to be so... Why did she have to stick her nose in...

Why did she have to care so much about what _he_ did? Stupid, selfish him.

She stood over him, arms by her sides. Her hair was drooping, an uncomfortable weight now. She took the pins out and let it fall. Then she asked another question that she might not receive an answer to. "Were you happy for them when they started _dating_?"

His gaze fell. She saw this, and her gaze fell as well.

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them again. She sat herself down beside his pensive form on the bed.

He spoke unexpectedly. "I know I should have said something." His eyes were settled on his hands entwined. "But she's... Hinamori."

Matsumoto only nodded in understanding. "She's your Achilles' heel."

His eyes were vacant. He replied feeling vacant. "... Yeah."

"And you love her," Matsumoto said softly.

He breathed in deeply. "I couldn't hurt her." He buried his face in his hands, then took his hands away and let out a breath.

Matsumoto was at his side, still as a stone.

They sat, quiet, unmoving. The sun moved closer to the peak of its height in the sky. Closer to the time the ceremony would begin. Dust motes circled in the little slits of light that came through the mostly closed blinds. He tugged at his hair, running his fingers through it over and over again, fluffing out the back that he had planned so perfectly for when they would come and ask him why he hadn't arrived.

"I'm such a... coward," he said finally, drained.

She said nothing. She shifted though, leaned back on her palms. Then she said, "So, are you going to go take a shower?"

He let his hands shake a little. "My mats are still in the tub."

"Where's your clothesline?" she asked, already hopping off of his bed. So ready to take care of the situation.

"Your... kimono's too nice," he said in a weak retaliation. He stood up though, mirroring her.

"I'll borrow one of your robes, hm?" she asked. She threw him a towel from his immaculate closet. Then she helped herself to one of his robes, putting it on backwards to protect her front. She walked past him to the washroom, the air stirred with her perfume. She walked solidly, and he felt fortunate for a model to copy.

"It's in the backyard, through the exit in the kitchen," he tried to tell her, his voicebox straining for more volume.

Just when he thought she might not have heard, she called back.

He stood in the middle of the room uselessly for a while, mind blank. Then he went to his closet and pulled his shower yukata off of its hook. He almost left, but doubled back and opened the blinds, letting sunlight flood the room. Then he walked to the bathroom, trying to think of Matsumoto's beautiful long strides across the wood floor, but knowing he was doing a poor job.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from the steam of the bathroom with his cotton yukata on, water droplets still on the skin of his legs and arms. He rubbed at his hair with a towel, trying to speed the drying process, but still more out of habit than anything else.

She was in the front room, opening a window. He stopped in the doorway, not really realizing that he was watching her. She still had his robe on backwards. The back of her obi stuck out.

She turned around, sunlight catching one of her swinging earrings. "Do you need some help picking out what to wear?"

He almost refused. But then, as if it was what he had planned all along-- "Yes."

Her arm dropped from the window to her side, and she walked past him into his bedroom. He followed her three paces after, eyes stuck for awhile on the sun, inching closer and closer toward the centre of the sky.

"Come on, Hitsugaya," her voice was soft sounding from all the way back in his closet. He went, not even hearing the lack of suffix.

She had already laid out all he needed on his bed - juuban, hadajuuban, hakama, kimono, haori. He looked at it all. He could do this. He could.

She was suddenly at his shoulder, and he was startled by her proximity. But she only smiled the smallest bit and excused herself, darting into the washroom.

When he was fully dressed, she was back again. But he had known that she hadn't been watching. He could have shook his head in amazement. The wonders of Matsumoto...

"Come on, now," she beckoned. She had pinned her hair up into a twist again and redone her lipgloss. She smiled. "Hm. You look so handsome, taichou," she told him, the bit of small talk giving him a chance, an opening to recover. He was thankful that she knew just what to say.

He walked toward the door in his outfit, the layers of clothing much heavier than the yukata. He walked strangely slowly, his immediate thoughts blank. She joined him, taking his elbow.

When they had stepped outside, the sun was high and bright. He turned back for one last look at his apartment, the faintest sparkle of life in the air. He could see, through the screen of the backdoor, the silhouette of his floormats hung from the clothesline, dripping cold water.

Then he shut the door.

She in her red, he in his dark blue, they walked the path to the garden and shrine at the edge of the Seireitei. He liked that she knew that he didn't want to get there quickly. He listened to their sandals on the stone. His eyelashes fluttered at the first stray snatch of music, and her fingers tightened around his elbow in response.

"They're here!" called someone young and energetic. Their call spread like wildfire, the gaggle of voices rose with the new information, fanning out to meet the bride and bridegroom.

They hovered together at the edge of the garden, knowing not to blend in just yet. He felt that this was a very short in-between time, that he had leapt and was just waiting to fall.

"Toushirou! You're _late!_" she called, her voice still somehow wan, even with the flavour of anger. She was coming around the crowd, her robes too voluminous and her nature too polite to let her shove through.

His eyes followed her as she came to him. He almost frowned.

"Let her go."

He nodded at the whisper in his ear. And then she was gone, finding the arm of another friend. _You look very nice, Matsumoto,_ he heard.

"_Toushirou!_" huffed Hinamori. He looked at her. The white kimono was beautiful, layer upon layer of clothing swathing his childhood friend, flowing to the floor. He could make out the very edges of her bangs from beneath the heavy hat required for matrimony. Rukia Kuchiki tailed Hinamori, her expression unimpressed.

The call was very faint. "Please don't run, Hinamori. Your robes are too long."

Hinamori ignored this, her eyes running over him appraisingly. "Well, you don't look unwell! I thought you might have taken ill unexpectedly. I was going to run over myself and see."

He hardly heard her words. He summoned the smallest of smiles from the deepest part of his heart. His voice was a quiet rumble. "You look beautiful."

She straightened a bit, taken by surprise. "... Thank you, Shirou-chan."

"Hinamori." Rukia leaned discreetly over Hinamori's shoulder. "It's time."

The people past Hinamori's shoulder in the garden shifted in his vision. He found the red kimono and the strawberry blonde hair, a bright red flower nestled in the curls.

"Come, Toushirou," Hinamori beckoned. She was small and smooth and perfect on her wedding day. She would not and could not take his hand and pull him along, because she was marrying a different man today. But he felt... fine. Free, even. His old, worn out glimmer of want floated away.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said.

Rukia bent down to pick up the mess of white silk and cotton at Hinamori's feet. He followed, eyes on the small of her back. Then he pulled away, joining the crowd, finding a spot beside Matsumoto, knowing it would already be reserved. They both watched the bride walk to the centre of the shrine, standing at the side of her groom. Rukia darted away, small and quick.

He let his eyes slip shut. His feet were folded under him, his hands were in his lap. He let out a sigh. The priest began, the words blending and rolling into a stream.

"So," she whispered. A faint breeze brushed his shoulder.

"I let her go," he breathed. He opened his eyes again. She was drinking the sak? the dainty cup to her painted lips.

He turned his head to look at Matsumoto, his eyes green and gray. "She's not mine to keep."

Matsumoto tilted her head to the right. She nodded.

A fleeting phantom image splayed over his senses again - Matsumoto in a wedding dress. He watched Hinamori smile, shy and sure, at her new husband. And then, a voice breaking the silence, too joyous to keep with decorum - _Congratulations!_ - and the whole of the garden was chorusing, their voices blending into one - _Congratulations._

The sun was falling from its peak in the sky, but bright as ever. The sky was blue and beautiful, light falling unchallenged through the air and hitting the bride's dress, the white blinding and bleary. But then floods of colour came from all sides, greens and purples and pinks. Dark blue. Red. They all walked to the trees, the photographer giving out commands no one heard through the din.

Her strides were long and graceful, ever the same. He kept up with her. She placed a hand on his shoulder, light as a bird, then gone again.

He smiled.


	19. Act V, Scene III

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: I'm sorry, but "cat" would just not come. I'm still working on it. It's proving to be a difficult bugger. And er, the Hitsu-whump? It's so difficult to concoct a scenario that would actually make sense and fit the specifications. It's really tentative as of right now.As always, this may be interpreted romantically or non-romantically. Though if you guess where my title came from it'd be easy to say that this is meant to be taken _romantically_. (Gasp!) Yeah. Comments and criticisms are welcome. Guesses on the origin of the title are welcome too. Thanks for reading.

-

33. ACT V, SCENE III  
The night was very dark, a darkness so strangely black that she wondered if she were dreaming. Even without the moon, there were always stars. There were always fires burning in the lamps that sat on the windowsills of houses that were older than her. But there was nothing. No light at all. It was very strange, she thought as she wandered. Very strange indeed.

-

He circled her form, faster by mere fractions of seconds that made all the difference. He wouldn't call her - it was foolish to try. A waste of energy better spent running. But still, he wished strongly, he wished hard, the feeling of helplessness unfamiliar, pressing at his pulse.

-

One foot in front of another. No lanterns to help her now. No children pointing the way, arms chubby from baby fat waving along. She walked as a blind woman, relying on her feeble human nose and ears. The sweat on her skin told her she was somewhere warm. Damp perhaps. Basic sense did little. It was something else - something indefinable - that told her to whip around to face the danger coming.

-

A very long time it had been since this had began. There were many factors, many things he could point to and accuse, but there was little point. Limits were being pushed, considerably so. Afternoon had turned into evening and evening was giving way to night. Time took its toll. Muscles stiffened. Mouths dried. Throats bled raw. Twilight, just arriving, brought the nightbirds and stole the sun.

The wail of the hollow chilled to the bone. The sky shuddered. So did he.

-

Her eyeballs numbed in their sockets, feeling as if they'd unhinge from her brain and simply fall away. Her throat was raked with screaming and she couldn't taste the blood she knew was coming. It juggled her with little effort as cruel things were wont to do, her mind the simplest of playthings. It pinched here and there, drawing out the most painful things from the most intimate parts of her memory, of her imagination, savouring her pain, tasting it with relish.

_Hitsugaya dead. Hitsugaya in pieces. Hitsugaya's eyes, his beautiful green eyes, grey and cold and lifeless._ That was what she feared most, why she prayed that she would die before him, just so she would not have to endure the pain of knowing.

_Beautiful,_ it thought. She could feel the hollow hum with pleasure at her agony, connected to her as it was. Disgust and utter hatred boiled and thrashed inside her.

She had to get out, she thought. She had to she had to she had to.

-

Chills fluttered up his scalp and hot breath rolled over his spine, bad signs, signs of warning. Please, he hoped. Please. If there was anyone he would want to keep, if there was anything he could do, if there was any way to save her--

-

_No!_ she screamed at it, truly _screamed_. She knew she was screaming, could feel her voice screeching along her vocal chords, but still could not hear a thing. It plugged her senses, suffocated them completely, so that the only thing she knew was its probing and its thoughts. The hollow had searched her for her deepest fear. And now it was going to exploit it.

-

He stopped. Was it true? Was she free? Her arms, pulled on strings by the hollow inside, had dropped to her sides, her sword clattering to the ground from fingers no longer willing to curl. She collapsed...

-

A small window opened before her eyes, distinguishable from the rest of the darkness only by a faint trace of starlight. The sky was dark, blending into the darkness of the hollow's mind. Her eyes, so long out of use, were almost blinded.

_No_, the word hissed out of her consciousness. _No_, she thought in horror. This hollow was truly cruel. Its wicked smile, sharpened with the points of its teeth, gleamed with murder. She had to get out. She had to rid herself of this thing. She had to kill this thing. If she couldn't kill it...

He would die.

-

He wanted to collapse beside her. The soles of his feet were cracked and bleeding, his throat had run dry so he could not speak. He could make no sound as he approached her still form, ready to take her home.

-

The window opened wider. The hollow freed her of its strings, a truly twisted thing. It knew what she would try to do. It knew that she could not do it, tired as she was.

She had to do it, she was resolute. She had to tell him. She had to hope.

-

Her muscles seemed to twitch all together. Her head struggled to lift.

"Matsumoto--" he tried to say, but his dry throat would not let him. His lungs struggled feebly for air.

She looked up at him, and he was so relieved. Her eyes were no longer black, no longer bore the mark the hollow had given her. But--

They were terrified. The blue of them churned with pain and sorrow. Her lips worked to form words, but none would come. He asked her what was wrong, the question pushing roughly through his throat--

And then she was gone, behind him, and a sword was pushed through his back.

-

She wept, the sound surely so terrible that she was almost glad she could not hear herself. Too fast for her weakened senses, the hollow had pulled her back and regained control. It pulled open her eyelids, showing her the blood on her hands and the sword that had pierced him and his face, _his face_ in that moment of surprise. It revelled in the sound of her crying, on the edge of complete ecstasy.

_I'm so sorry,_ she thought to him, she hoped he somehow knew. _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry._

-

When she surfaced she could not cry out from relief or joy. Her mind was broken from her need to kill the hollow. She had killed a part of herself to destroy it, so blind and ravenous was her desire. When it cursed her in its screeching language she knew its last words would do nothing, for she would not live much longer without all her mind. She would let herself slip and fall.

Barely conscious, she found his body and dragged herself over, unable to feel thankfulness for the relatively whole state her body had been left in. She was weak, her physical limits had been pushed without regard to the consequences. The muscles had been torn in her legs, then walked with, then run with. Even if she continued on, she would never stand again.

Hands closing over his, her breathing grew more spastic and she tried so hard to ignore the stitches in her chest. Slipping from her eyes were tears, unsummoned, for she had no strength to call them forth. They came of their own accord.

Every part of her hoped he was still somehow breathing. She could hear nothing. His hands were cold, but that had never been a good measure of his vivacity.

The sword in his back wobbled - he had moved. Her heart beat stronger in response, but she felt her strength weaken.

"Toushirou," she whispered. The brutal scratching of her throat went ignored. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes did not open. But she continued to speak.

"I killed it, Toushirou." Blood began to escape from the corners of her lips. "I'm sorry I let it hurt you." She felt her mind leaving her, taking her consciousness with it. It was rushing away, and she could not grab onto it. "I'm sorry." She tightened her fingers around his. "I'm sorry, and I love you." And then she died.

-

He woke up.


	20. Underhanded, Morning, Check Up

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Two weeks! Dear gosh, I am terribly sorry. I am also sorry for the lack of request-filling this time 'round. They're coming, _I swear_.  
To all those who guessed R&J as the title inspiration for the last installment - you're right!  
Hitsugaya and Matsumoto romantic couple? You decide. The only thing for certain is that they're an awesome combination.

-

34. SO MAYBE IT WAS UNDERHANDED  
He should've known this would happen. _He should've known this would happen._ Things like this always happened at the least opportune moment, and with himself as an accomplice. Always.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but your blood alcohol content seems to be... zero point two," the man in the uniform was saying. His eyebrows were raised and his eyes were wide and he seemed to be pushing up the brim of his hat, in case the sunlight was playing tricks on him.

"I don't see how that's a problem," Matsumoto reasoned with her hands on the steering wheel, perfectly innocent and easy-going.

The officer stared at the contraption in his hands, confounded. "But you are driving outside of the law," he said, and it sounded like he was questioning himself. He blinked some more at the little machine.

"Oh?" Matsumoto leaned strategically forward a bit, elbow hanging out of the window. "How so, sir?" 

The officer looked up from the contraption right into Matsumoto's wide blue eyes. And it was brief, but Hitsugaya caught the drift of his gaze to her chest. He almost growled under his breath. Hitsugaya himself was certainly the only male _ever_ to not react to those... _things_. "Erm, well. Well, the legal limit is zero point zero eight."

"I see," Matsumoto replied, nodding her head, even though Hitsugaya knew that she didn't understand a word this man was saying. He simmered slowly in the passenger's seat, seatbelt cutting at his neck. These _cars_. These _policemen_. What ridiculous... contraptions.

"So what you're saying," Matsumoto rehashed, casually playing with the pendant that fell between her cleavage, "Is that I have drank too much alcohol to be driving. Is that correct?" She beamed up at the officer, dazzling him.

He blinked, thoroughly dazzled. "Um... yes. Yes."

"Well, that's funny," she said, placing a finger on her lower lip. "Because I haven't drank any alcohol at all."

Bullshit, Hitsugaya thought to himself, shifting on the seat beside her. But he said nothing. Dear God, these pants were uncomfortably tight. How could Ichigo wear things like this? And this car was a deathtrap. If he didn't die of the other idiots driving these things, he'd die from overheating. With this officer here, there was no way he could just call up Hyourinmaru...

"The test _does_ seem suspiciously high," the officer mused.

"Exactly, officer. If I were drunk, could I speak this coherently?"

The officer seemed uncertain now, as if he were suddenly aware of the trap Matsumoto was setting. Hitsugaya couldn't blame him. Matsumoto could be terribly persuasive. The officer would, of course, fall into the trap regardless. "Um, no, you couldn't?"

Matsumoto nodded, dropping her pendant back into her cleavage. "Exactly, officer. Now, have a nice day!" She put up a hand to wave, and promptly rolled up the window. They were whizzing along the road in seconds, the officer standing in the dust, scrunching his eyes. 

"That was a bit underhanded, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," Hitsugaya said, though he wasn't sure how he felt about it. 

Matsumoto grinned, then hit the accelerator. She picked up the pendant again. "I like to call it savoir faire."

- 

35. MORNING  
Matsumoto stood over the sink in the bathroom. She pulled faces in the mirror. Sad. Mischevious. Surprised. Sultry.

"Have you seen my socks?"

She was startled, and turned away from her reflection with a whip of her head.

He was gone.

Nothing registered for a moment. And then...

"Wait!" she called after him. She pulled the door open and hollered down the hall. "How much of that did you see?"

-

36. CHECK UP & CHECK OUT  
"How'd you get that scar?" she asked him one day in the fourth division hospital.

"Stop looking at my body," he replied, irate at having to lie still during this inspection with barely any clothes on.

"Just asking," she sung. She was _so_ glad they let her stay for this.

"Arm up," said Kou, Hitsugaya's nurse for the day. He was very knowledgeable and strong enough to control the less co-operative patients (which Hitsugaya was... to an extent). Unfortunately, Kou was also male, which meant he was susceptible to the charms of Matsumoto.

"Thank you for letting me stay, Kouyuu," purred Matsumoto, right on cue.

"N-no problem, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," said Kou, his eyes darting from Matsumoto's smile to Hitsugaya's bicep. 

"Why are you here, again?" Hitsugaya asked. 

"Other arm," said Kou.

Hitsugaya lifted his other arm.

"Moral support," replied Matsumoto, without seeming to think. She added, "You have a nice stomach there."

Hitsugaya narrowed his eyes. "... Thanks." 

Kou smiled a little.

"And nice pecs." 

"Stop," Hitsugaya warned.

"I'm giving you support!" she protested.

"Flip over," ordered Kou.

Hitsugaya turned so that he was lying on his back.

"Wow!" Matsumoto shot forward towards the examination table. "What happened there?"

Hitsugaya started to get up. "Stop staring-- oompf."

"Stay down, please, Hitsugaya-taichou," Kou said, pushing Hitsugaya down. He proceeded to bend Hitsugaya's knees and poke at his shoulders.

"And nice legs. They're nicer than mine," said Matsumoto, obviously still closely observing.

"Shut _up_, Matsumoto," said Hitsugaya through clenched teeth. 

"Does this hurt?" asked Kou, pushing some point on Hitsugaya's back.

"No," responded Hitsugaya. 

"And," Matsumoto said matter-of-factly, "a really nice butt."

"Matsumoto!" he exclaimed, feeling a surge of outrage. _Greeeat_. Now he was feeling really conscious of his butt.

"No, really," she continued thoughtfully, "it's small and tight, but in a guy way, not a girl way."

"Let me go, Kou, let me--"

"I'm sorry, Hitsugaya-taichou," said Kou, smiling. "I'm afraid I have to continue."

"As do I," said Matsumoto. She paused. Then- "Your shoulders are pretty sexy..." 

Hitsugaya let out a suffering groan.


	21. Cat

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Here it is, the request that I have been putting off for millenia. I know the title is lacklustre, but I hope the piece of writing itself isn't.  
As for the nature of their relationship, I think you can come up with your own conclusions, hm?

-

33. CAT  
"Ah-choo!" he sneezed.

"Gesundheit," Orihime said from where she was standing in the kitchen.

Hitsugaya frowned. He _sneezed?_ He wasn't feeling cold... he hadn't felt cold for centuries. He had kind of gotten used to it with an ice dragon for a companion. Not to mention the little matter of sprouting ice wings and an ice tail when he was really pissed.

But whatever. This was a gigai. It was summertime. Why in the world would he be sneezing?

Belatedly, he realized that he should thank Orihime for her _gesundheit_. "Thank you."

"Oh, you're welcome, Toushirou-kun. I think you've been spending too many nights on the roof," she ventured a theory, then opened the refrigerator door. "You should spend more time inside. It's really no trouble." She took out a bizarre combination of tofu and grapes then spirited herself over to a far cupboard and located a jar of peanut butter. "In fact," she said brightly, pausing in her tasks to smile at him, "Rangiku said that you could share a room! Isn't that nice?"

His expression turned appropriately sour, but not so much as to dishearten his hostess. Rrgh. Matsumoto and her weird little schemes. (And don't even try to convince him otherwise. It _was_ a scheme. He just knew it.) To his mild chagrin, he couldn't think of a retort that wouldn't confuse Orihime, so he settled for an odd grunt that became interrupted halfway through by a sneeze.

"Gesundheit, Toushirou. I've never heard you sneeze before. How cute!" This, accompanied by a brief cuddle, made Hitsugaya's face positively stony.

"It's Hitsugaya-taichou, Matsumoto," he stated flatly. It barely passed as a greeting, but really, could she expect any better after calling anything he did _cute_?

"Hello, Rangiku!" greeted Orihime, lifting a wooden spoon and waving with it. 

"Orihime-chan!" Matsumoto responded in kind, relinquishing her grip on him. "What's for dinner today?" She weaved her way gracefully around the tables and old wrappers strewn across the floor to the kitchen. His gaze followed her fluid movement, and he found himself taken by surprise. More often than not, he forgot that she was very nimble (which really wasn't his fault, since most of her time in his presence was spent lying on the office couch). But then there were the times during training when she would cut him off his path with a smile, the times when he would head to the bathroom and find her there already, stealthy enough to not have woken him.

Well, her zanpakutou _was_ a cat, an animal famed for stealth, so it couldn't be too shocking that she had it somewhere in her. Even Shihouin Yoruichi, a practical legend in the art of shunpo, had chosen a cat as a form of concealment. (It was a strange thing being able to draw a connection between his bubbly lieutenant and the Goddess of Flash.)

"Ah-choo!" he sneezed.

"Gesundheit."

"Thank you," he replied. "Yoruichi-sama."

"Ah, it's no problem, Hitsugaya-taichou," said Yoruichi, coming around the corner of the kitchen counter.

"Gesundheit!" called Matsumoto jovially, at the same time watching Orihime stir something ominous-looking. He decided that he wasn't eating tonight.

"Meow," said something.

Well, that _something_ was probably a cat, he reasoned. No one went around meowing for the fun of it. Or at least no one _should_.

He stretched a little from his position on his cushion to see a shockingly white cat treading the kitchen floor and shedding everywhere.

"Mrreow," it said, blinking at him. He frowned minutely. He didn't recall a cat ever living here. Aside from Yoruichi, of course.

He sneezed. Orihime called a gesundheit, as did Yoruichi. Matsumoto, however, had crouched to pet the cat and pull it into her lap and let it shed all over her. It figured. Cat and... cat- erm, swordwielder?

He sneezed again. Orihime had crouched to pet the cat and coo in her girlish way, and only Yoruichi was left to say a gesundheit.

"You know, Toushirou," Orihime mused, still looking at the mass of white fur atop Matsumoto's lap, "You might have allergies." 

Hm. Considering Orihime's usual wild imaginings, that actually made sense. Still... he'd been "living" sufficiently long enough to know what he was allergic to. It had to be some odd material world nuance...

"Meow," said the cat, leaping from Matsumoto's lap. Its claws ticked on the linoleum of the kitchen floor, then across the wood of the living room, to where Hitsugaya sat. His sneezed again.

The cat stood before him for a good time, a ridiculous amount of fur settling around it and onto the floor. His expression was impassive. At least until the cat climbed into his lap. Then- then he sneezed so strongly he was sure the cat would leap from where it had settled. But, of course, it didn't.

"Aww, she likes you, Shirou-chan," Matsumoto said, making her way over to his side, unsurprisingly, with the smoothness of a cat. Yoruichi looked up from her saucer of milk, blinking her yellow eyes at him.

He was suddenly a smidgen disconcerted. Had he not realized it before, or were cats all around him?

He sneezed loudly. The cat's face - if possible - seemed to show increasing contentment with the situation.

"Gesundheit," Matsumoto said, smiling, as if delighted as well. "Oh, you two are just too cute," she said as the cat rolled over, shedding more fur on his black pants.

He frowned. Apparently everyone in the apartment but him was a little slow on the uptake. "I think I'm-- ah-ah-chooo-- allergic to this thing."

"Isn't Yoruichi a cat? Why haven't you been sneezing around her?"

The cat was now wriggling around in his lap, begging for attention and mewling. He was unmoved. He sat as rigid as a board and didn't know how the cat could find his lap comfortable at all. "I don't know. Yoruichi-sama isn't even a real cat. And she doesn't have-- ah-choo-- such a... large amount of fur."

Matsumoto bent down and plucked the cat from his lap. "I suppose." She looked thoughtful. Then she sat down next to him, throwing her legs up and over his lap. Settling in, getting comfortable. Like a cat. She draped an arm over his shoulder and lifted her hand to play with his hair. With her other hand, she ran her fingers through the cat's fur.

He sighed. Then he relaxed into the feel of her fingers. Allergic as he was to cats, he could never claim to be allergic to Matsumoto.

The cat meowed. He sneezed.


	22. A Limited Correspondance

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: I'm baaack! I haven't been reading Bleach at all since I last wrote for "Ten", so if there have been some new developments, my story remains unaffected. I just had to write something for the heads of the tenth again. I missed them.

---

38. A LIMITED CORRESPONDANCE/ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER  
"_What?_"

"You heard me. You. Material world. Now." He had already turned around.

"Wait!" Matsumoto called, a hand suspended in the air, a signal for stop. This wasn't fair! Why couldn't one of the other vice captains go? "Wait! Why me?"

He turned just enough to face her. The shadow that fell from the brim of his hat just obscured his smile. "We decided you were the best candidate. That's all." He turned around.

She stuck her tongue out at his retreating back.

"I saw that," he said.

---

"You're leaving?" Hitsugaya asked, bending over one of her packing boxes. It was labelled _Beauty_ in flowing script and crammed full of hair products.

"I'm leaving," she confirmed, her tone hinting that she found this prospect about as pleasurable as a root canal. "Orders are I'm to be gone by sunset."

He gave a very small frown, coupled with a stitch of the brow. "I was never notified of this."

"Well it's official," she grumbled. She was picking sharpening stones at random and tossing them into a box labelled with a picture of Haineko.

"So it's above and beyond my authority, hm?" His mood was fast coming to resemble his vice captain's. Which of their faces were scarier? The jury was still out on that one.

Matsumoto seemed to be throwing things into their respective boxes with increasing force. "It's some super secret mission too, one that they can't tell me about until I set up communication in Karakura."

Hitsugaya perched on the edge of his desk. "That sounds strange. Karakura already has earthbound guards. What would they want you over there for?"

"That's what I asked. I'm supposed to be some kind of _link_ between Soul Society and Karakura." She mocked the word _link_.

His brow unfurrowed, resigning himself to it. He'd have to make do without her for a while, he guessed.

"You should see this as an honour, taichou," she said now, turning her back to him to attend to more boxes. "Soutaichou thinks you're capable enough to handle this division on your own."

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't think that's it, Matsumoto."

She waved her hand in the air, waving the topic away.

He sat perched on his desk still, watching her maneuver tape around tops of boxes.

"Well, that's it," she finally announced. She went over to his spot on his desk. "I'll see you when I see you, taichou." She still looked mad. But there was something else that he didn't know how to define.

He examined her face. Then - "... See you, Matsumoto-fukutaichou."

She let out a small sigh, then turned around to gather her things.

---

"What are you doing?"

"Ah! You nearly spooked me there, good friend."

"Were you watching the tenth division? Isn't that kind of immoral?"

"No. It's all in the name of--"

"You're not Aphrodite, you know."

"I know," he replied. He adjusted the brim of his hat, then turned away from the door. "I'm prettier, of course."

His friend raised an eyebrow.

---

Matsumoto let out an almighty sigh as she let the last box hit the ground. There. It wasn't like moving was particularly difficult work, but couldn't Soul Society have sent someone to help her, since they had so cruelly shipped her away? She fell into the couch, plastic covers still draped over it.

She lay like that for a few minutes, examining the ceiling of the provided housing. _Two bedroom apartment with bathroom, living room and kitchen. Fully furnished,_ the documents had said. None of it really mattered, since she planned on staying in the material world for as little time as possible.

As this thought occured to her, she realized she should set up the communication device as soon as possible so she could receive her orders. Receiving orders fast equalled mission done fast equalled back to Soul Society fast. She sat up, feet turning in the air to come to rest on the hardwood floor. She started toward the machine.

---

Hitsugaya sat at his desk, the rough bristles of his brush refusing to co-operate with the scroll in front of him. The bristles were stiff. When he tried to force the tips of them downward, they rebelled and sprayed bits of ink everywhere. It had started as a small annoyance. But whenever he had to wash the brushes every five minutes to soften the tips, it was more than a hindrance.

He stood up again to go to the sink. He wanted to finish this documentation as soon as possible. (Well, that was the way he looked at all paperwork.)

He swirled the tip of the brush in the water gathered in the bottom of the sink. This ridiculous brush problem wouldn't stop him from completing his task perfectly and on time.

The sound of the water was the only noise in the room.

---

AUGHHH. Why did this have to be so HARD?

Doohickey-C connected to thingamabob-E12. Pretzel-G rotated to fit into pretzel-fitter-7. Jigger-D4 and handle-thing-1 went alongside jigger-D5 and handle...

"ARGHHH!" Matsumoto yelled, throwing up her hands in defeat. Then she realized she was still holding jigger-D5 and dropped it in disgust. It landed on her toes. She frowned at it with actual hate and kicked it away.

She collapsed to the floor, amidst a multitude of machine parts and grease. She might actually cry, tired and frustrated. And aching for home.

She picked herself up off of the floor. This was not the way a respectable vice captain of the gotei 13 should act. She would... get help. Yes. She would contact Soul Society for help in putting this... abomination together, get her orders, carry them out, and leave this two-bedroom-one-bathroom-blah-dee-blah. Yes.

She cheered up considerably at forming this plan. She would carry it out tomorrow, after getting a good night's sleep. She would take a nice long, hot shower, then fall into bed.

It was only in the morning, waking up atop a bed without covers or even pillows, still covered in plastic, that she realized that she hadn't even unpacked.

---

Day four in the office without Matsumoto. Hitsugaya arrived at seven a.m. sharp, as he had always done. He left his shoes by the door and opened the window to the breeze. He started the fire for the kettle. He readied his teacup. Then he sat at his desk and began to work.

---

"Are you watching again?" asked the same voice from over his same shoulder.

He turned gracefully. "Why, _me_? Certainly not."

His friend merely shook his head. "Would you leave Hitsugaya-taichou alone?"

"I am. He is very alone, in fact."

"Only because of your scheme."

He smiled to himself, that darned smile. "They'll see. Give it time."

---

The kettle whistled its tune. Hitsugaya stood from his seat, careful to rest the (still not working) brush against its stone. He found the little pot with the carefully cured, dried tea leaves and plucked a bit between his fingers. He let it fall into his cup.

His steps toward the kettle were efficient. He never took more steps than necessary. Not out of laziness, surely, but out of a disdain for unneeded movement. He didn't like it when people pretended their desks were drumsets or tapped their feet to no rhythm. Matsumoto walked a fine line on this subject. She swung her feet from the couch, she drummed her fingers in sequence: pinky, ring, middle, index... But he'd grown used to it. He thought on this idly as he curled his fingers around the kettle handle.

He poured the steaming water into his cup. Tea for one.

---

So she'd tried to call Soul Society technical assistance with the little help button she'd found attached to thingamadoodle-4R. But it was a weekend. Apparently they weren't open on weekends.

Matsumoto wanted to pull her hair out.

And considering how nice her hair was, and all the time and product she invested in it, that was saying something.

How could Soul Society technical assistance be closed, ever? What if some wayward shinigami was in a tight spot, say, in the clutches of a hollow, and couldn't call for backup with his phone? This was surely against some kind of moral law!

So she had spent the last two days unpacking a little bit. She didn't want to unpack entirely, just in case the mission was specialized for her or something, and she could finish it in the blink of an eye. She had just taken off the plastic coverings of some of the furntiure and put some clothes in the closet, some sheets on the bed. The communication device was a tangle on the living room floor. She walked around it. Whatever.

It was now 6:59 a.m.. The STD - Shinigami Technical Department, though she _had_ wondered why they couldn't have chosen 'Centre' or something less mockable - was opening in exactly one minute. She'd phone in first thing to avoid any waiting, get this thing constructed and be back in the tenth division office in no time.

She tapped her finger to some song she'd heard earlier.

7:00 a.m.! She jabbed the button.

_Bringbring, bringbring. Hello, Shinigami Technical--_

"Hello? Yes? This is Matsumoto Rangiku-fukutaichou, I have a problem constructing--"

_All of our representatives are currently busy. Please hold until you may be provided with assistance._

Seriously? She called on the dot of seven a.m.! Errrghhh. Nothing to do but wait, she supposed. It couldn't be too long a wait. She leaned against the wall, the help button atop her lap.

---

Hitsugaya sat at his desk, working at a quick pace. Earlier in the day, Ise-fukutaichou had come by, asking for assistance in filling out an impressive amount of forms that had built up in the eighth division (hidden behind a stack of rice-worker hats, if he had heard correctly?). He had sympathized with her situation, knowing what it felt like to be swamped with paperwork due to lazy officers, so he took up a brush with her.

Ise sat at Matsumoto's desk, her stacks of paper dwindling gradually. Her back was straight and her head was bent slightly. Her hand moved across the page without faltering. A spectacular worker. Her brush set was amazing, too. He'd have to ask her where she got it from.

Hitsugaya felt sluggish compared to her, and he was no novice at paperwork. It might've been his brushes. They'd be inconveniencing him for days. He stood. "Ise-fukutaichou?"

Ise set down her brush and pushed up the frames of her glasses. "Yes, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"Could I please borrow one of your brushes? Mine are faltering, it would seem."

"Of course, Hitsugaya-taichou. Help yourself." Ise nodded.

He smiled a small bit at the ease of this exchange. Matsumoto would've made him play some weird game or guess her favourite male model in order to attain a brush. He came from behind his desk to Matsumoto's and selected a brush from Ise's set. "Thank you."

"It's no problem," she replied, already committing tiny characters to paper.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thank you." She picked up a sheet of paper from a stack and laid it down.

"Alright," he said, turning away, a little shocked that she wouldn't want tea. Talking to Ise felt a little strange, actually. Talking to Ise was like talking to himself.

---

Matsumoto was snoring.

_Hello, Shinigami Technical Department! How can I help you?_

Matsumoto drooled a little.

_Hello? Are you there?_

Matsumoto scratched her tummy.

_Excuse me, are you still there?_

Matsumoto's head lolled to the side.

_Click._

---

"That's just cruel," his friend said.

He lay back on the grass, propping his hat atop his face. "It's all in the name of a higher power..."

"She watched the darned thing the whole day."

"All for a greater cause..." he said, the sound muffled by the straw.

His friend peered at him, as if he could discern his expression from behind the hat. "Are you drunk?"

"I never get drunk, dear friend."

"I know. I just ask it for the sake of."

He hummed from behind the hat.

---

Matsumoto was mad.

She was furious, more like. She had stayed in the material world for four whole days and gotten absolutely nothing done. She had fallen asleep waiting for those STD people to help her with this ridiculous piece of machinery, and they had hung up on her! Hung up!

She chewed her food with vigour. This was the worst mission ever! The way she saw it, she wasn't being unreasonable about it. The mission was so sketchy and the technology was way over her head and she missed her taichou, darn it!

It was a funny little thought, actually, that she missed him. He was just so familiar after decades of partnership. She missed the smell of green tea and his little bit of hair falling over his forehead and the way he'd say her name. She missed home.

The food lost some of its taste. She chewed with a little less energy.

---

_TENTH DIVISION OFFICER EVALUATION FORM: 5TH SEAT  
Suzuhara go-seki performs to the best of her ability consistently. She is a well-rounded officer - capable of completing assigned paperwork and highly proficient in shunpo and swolornk--_

"That's it," Hitsugaya muttered under his breath. He promptly threw the brush he was using into the trash. That was one too many documents ruined due to faulty brush bristles.

_Swolornk,_ he thought to himself as he opened the shoji screen. _Swolornk._

He set off in the direction of Old Lady Mariko's shop, the place where Ise had revealed she had bought her brushes from. He had the full intention of purchasing a good set and never having to deal with blobby ink and the periodic soaking of bristles ever again.

The shop was small, goods of many kinds crammed in shelves next to each other. Documents were wrapped in binding spells for protection, their auras glowing soft blues and pinks. Scrolls painted with words of prosperity and good health hung from the ceiling to the floor.

"Good day, young man," greeted the storeowner, presumably Old Lady Mariko.

"Hello," he said. He drifted to a display case, behind which Mariko was positioned. "These brushes--"

"Are superb. The very best quality, I can assure you."

"I... see," he responded.

Then, looking up, Hitsugaya's eye was caught by a flare of colour. Hanging above and behind Mariko, from the same hook as a wall scroll, was a bright pink scarf. It seemed strangely out of sorts in the shop.

"Madam--"

"Miss, if you please."

"Miss," he amended, unfazed by this request, "is that scarf for sale?"

She turned around slowly to regard the scarf, then turned back around and spoke very slowly, as if he were daft. "Yes. But such a scarf is not befitting for a young man."

He almost bristled. He would have. But he persisted. "I'd like to see it, please."

"Alright," Miss Mariko said, her tone still cautionary. She grabbed the scarf deftly between her fingers and pulled it down. It lay over the countertop like a river over a mountainside.

He took the scarf between his fingers. It felt perfect. It called to him, the colour so striking, so bold. He could see it paired with her hair already.

She watched him, interest plainly on her face.

"I'll take it," he told her.

She rung it up without a word. When he paid, she folded it into the bottom of a box with her knobby fingers and handed the box to him.

"Thank you," he said, throat strangely dry. And he walked out, pushing the door aside dazedly.

Mariko watched him leave, a slow smile coming across her face.

"I need some brushes," he said as he walked in again.

The smile widened. "I thought you'd be back."

---

Matsumoto wove a ribbon through her hair to keep it back. She couldn't have it whipping out behind her. She was performing a mission that required stealth.

The mission was not, in fact, the mission she had come to the Material World to perform. It was her own.

She was going back to Soul Society, dammit, and nothing could keep her here for any longer.

---

It was somewhere around ten o'clock when he woke up. Late for work. He'd dreamed an extra long dream, one where he was navigating through a maze made up of long, white walls and all he'd wanted to do was get out. He woke up just as he was running to the exit.

So when he arrived at the office, he wasn't exactly expecting the day to go in his favour.

"Hello, taichou."

A reflexive nod. "Matsumoto."

Wait-- what?

He forced his tired eyes open and looked in the direction of her desk. Sure enough, in full shinigami dress, with hair strawberry blonde as ever, was his fukutaichou. He took a step forward. "Mat- Matsumoto? How... I mean, how are you?"

"Perfect," she replied, lifting the brush in her hand from her paper. She looked at him quizzically. "Are these brushes new? They work really well."

"Yes," he said quickly, ignoring the fact that she must've been through his desk to find them. He pushed forward, "When did you come back? How was your mission?"

"I arrived just this morning," she said, tipping her head over her work without much interest, "and I didn't complete the mission. Did you change the curtains, too?"

"What! Matsumoto, how could you not complete the mission?"

"It was impossible," Matsumoto replied, clipping her vowels. Why did she feel so snippy? She was back in her home, the place she really belonged...

"Matsumoto, you can't _not_ complete a mission. You have to fulfill your duties as a shinigami of the Gotei 13." He was in full blown captain mode, arms crossed, eyes a deeper green than usual.

She just looked at him.

The door slid open. "Oy, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, have you finished your mission so soon?"

Her gaze stayed on her captain for a split second longer than comfortable. She whipped her head around to find Kyouraku-taichou in the doorway. "No. I was just leaving." And she slipped out the doorway.

---

For the remainder of that day, Hitsugaya had the sense that his lieutenant would burst back through the door, settle on the couch and carry on as if nothing had happened.

He knew it was ridiculous, because she would step through the senkaimon and finish her mission like she was assigned.

He also knew it was ridiculous that he hoped that she would do the exact opposite, and stay.

Sitting at his desk and not doing work, he eyed the flare of pink settled in the bottom of the box from Mariko's.

---

Matsumoto dangled doohickey-J in front of her nose, hoping for inspiration. She had been at this again for an hour or so. So far, she'd managed to piece together about a third of the machine. The whole time she'd put together the darn thing, she'd thought of Hitsugaya-taichou's face, dark and stern, and she'd push on.

It was possible to tire of this though, as she discovered, nodding off right there on the hardwood floor. She might as well get some sleep. She felt her way over to the bed and lay down on the sheets, letting secret thoughts slip:

_He didn't even say hello._

---

Hitsugaya slid the door to his office open. He nearly concussed himself when he saw who was sitting in his office.

Ukitake-taichou was preferable to this, with his insistence and random presents. Zaraki-taichou was preferable to this, with his manic personality and terrifying grin. _Soifon-taichou_ was preferable to this, with her seemingly unquenchable desire for fighting and cats. (A strange combination, if anything.)

"Ohohoho! Hitsugaya-taichou! Fancy seeing you here!"

"This _is_ my office, Kyouraku-taichou."

"Good point, Toushirou! You are always so sharp!" The man had yet to end a sentence without an exclamation.

"Yes, well," Hitsugaya said, working to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, "thank you for that. But did you have something you wanted to speak about?"

Kyouraku stood suddenly from his seat behind Hitsugaya's desk, his robe moving fluidly with him. "Yes, as a matter of fact!" He reached for his omnipresent saucer of sake and floated toward the couch. "Please, sit," he invited, gesturing toward Hitsugaya's desk.

Hitsugaya sat, his hands a tad tense atop his desk. Once his intial dread over Kyouraku's presence had faded, he realized that the captain could indeed have something important to say. He was ready to hear it.

Kyouraku took a lazy slurp from his saucer. "How long has it been since Matsumoto-fukutaichou left on her mission?"

Hitsugaya frowned a smidgen, his suspicion raised. "Fifteen days. Or one, if you count that mishap yesterday."

Kyouraku let a smile stretch across his face. "Ah. Speaking of, did you happen to know what her reasons were for coming back so early?"

Hitsugaya thought back to yesterday morning. It had seemed so surreal. "I didn't ask," he answered honestly.

"Why ever not, Hitsugaya-taichou?" the older man asked, lifting the brim of his hat with a thumb. "She could've had something very vital to tell you. Or the rest of us here in Soul Society."

"She didn't seem too hard pressed to report anything to me, Kyouraku-taichou," Hitsugaya replied, beginning to detect his mood taking a turn for the worse. "Now, is that all? I have a lot of paperwork to complete. My sixth is out sick."

"And so is your lieutenant, of course! Terribly sorry to keep you from your duties. I'll let myself out." Kyouraku floated to the exit, as he seemed to do everytime he moved. Hitsugaya refrained from commenting to Kyouraku-taichou on how Matsumoto never helped with paperwork. That might be seen as an invitation to stay and speak more. What Hitsugaya needed right now was to be blissfully alone.

"Have a good day, Kyouraku-taichou."

"You as well, Toushirou!" A slight wave goodbye.

Hitsugaya closed the door swiftly and soundlessly. He sat in his chair, took out his newly acquired brush set, and dipped the tip of a brush in a pool of black ink.

_RECRUIT EVALUATION_, he read.  
_Date: Third month, seventeenth day, two thousand twelfth year of the Academy_, he wrote.  
_Division sought: Tenth division, under Hitsugaya Toushirou-Taichou_, he filled out, half on auto-pilot.  
_Name: Matsumoto Rangiku_, he wrote effortlessly, the strokes of the characters looking particularly beautiful.

He was just about to put pen to paper again when-

"Crud," he muttered, realizing his mistake. Matsumoto was definitely _not_ a recruit. And Matsumoto was also most definitely on his mind.

---

Matsumoto woke to a new day like a particularly irate baby would - scrunching her eyes against the light and flailing all over before flopping over again. Except she stayed awake. She thought it faintly ridiculous that humans needed so much sleep, because she'd slept for a solid five hours and felt horrible in this gigai.

So she needed sleep. She knew it wouldn't come.

She dragged herself out from between the sparse sheets, pulled towards the machine she had partially built. This was her only reason for being here. Her life for the past sixteen days revolved around this thing. How sad. She should really get out of this damn apartment.

Matsumoto found her waffle robe, throwing it on over her bra and sleep shorts. She looked out the window to where the sun would be rising. She found a cup, turned on the tap, and filled her glass.

By the time she had made it out onto the little balcony, the sun had just broke the horizon. She stood and stared.

---

"Matsumoto! Get some work done!" he yelled.

No reply.

His hackles rose. How could she be so rude? "Matsumoto!"

Silence.

"Matsumoto Rangiku, if you are sleeping on the job again..." he muttered. His steps were quick and light over the tenth's quarters, searching.

He whipped open the door to his office, eyes fixating instantly on the couch. No Matsumoto.

"Matsumoto?"

Was she... gone?

"Matsumoto?" he mumbled in his slumber, dreaming in the dark.

---

Matsumoto suddenly looked up from her work, an odd echo sounding in her brain. Had someone called her name? Well, no one here knew her name, so that wasn't really possible. Huh. Back to work.

The machine was now well over half done, looking a great deal more simple on the outside than she'd expected. She guessed all the thingamabobs and jiggers were inside.

Matsumoto could be single-minded if she had to be. Now was one of those times. She still felt a little hurt by her captain's dismissal, but then, that was how he was. So responsible. He expected the same of her, of course. She couldn't just go gallumphing off wherever she chose. Even if the weather where she was was really odd, or if the air stunk really terribly sometimes. Even if her upstairs neighbour was a tap dancer and she was tired of eating tofu every night...

But no. She had to finish. The sooner the better.

Maybe... maybe she could even enjoy being here. She was excused from all her other responsibilities after all. Yeah. That was positive of her, wasn't it?

She continued on, this small knowledge spreading a smile across her face.

---

Hitsugaya was miserable.

It was silly, really, because he had finished all his paperwork (with help from Ise). This was a day for celebration. He'd stayed late last night, determined to finish the last of it (and also determined not to think of his missing lieutenant). Really, he should've been happy (except he'd dreamed of her anyway).

He pulled open his lowest drawer, where the scarf lay, soft cotton pooling at the bottom of the gift box.

He felt so... odd after that conversation with Kyouraku-taichou. He somehow got the impression that Matsumoto had been hiding something from him. This in itself was strange, considering how Mastumoto was usually.

And how was she usually? Loud. Over-the-top. Boisterous.

Everything he wasn't feeling at the moment.

Maybe he was just feeling down from doing paperwork all the damn time. He'd forsaken his training for these past weeks because of his lack of a sparring partner, but he should at least handle Hyourinmaru more than once a week. He was a shinigami after all. And a captain, at that.

This vein of logic had Hitsugaya distracted in no time, and boy, was he glad for a distraction. He looked briefly at the scarf, then shut the drawer. He threw his curtains apart and opened the door.

And walked right into Kyouraku-taichou. Great.

"Good morning to you, Hitsugaya-taichou! Isn't it a splendid day outside?"

"Kyouraku-taichou, hello. Yes, it is nice. You came here to see me?"

Now, Kyouraku-taichou's face took on a weird, nervous quality. "Oh, not at all!" he trilled. "I just- uh, felt I should stop by to see if my dear Rangiku-chan was back yet!"

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou has not returned from her mission, Kyouraku-taichou. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, my, my. That is a disappointment. Well, I'll let you return to your tasks." Kyouraku stepped out of the path Hitsugaya seemed to be headed down.

"Thank you, Kyouraku-taichou. Goodbye." Hitsugaya walked away, detecting that the other man was up to something, but simultaneously deciding that since it was Kyouraku, it was probably frivolous and not worth worrying too much about.

---

Matsumoto found a nice restaurant to go to that evening because she swore that she would not eat tofu for one more night. She washed her hair, twisted it into a nice bun, stuck some pearls into her ears, and promised herself to come back at nine o' clock.

She picked something barbequed and western, but paired it with a fruit salad because she believed in balance. She had barely bitten into a strawberry before a man came up to her table.

"Hey, there. I just saw you and thought I recognized you. Did we meet at pinkberry?"

Matsumoto looked up. To his credit, the man's eyes did not once drift to her chest. She put down her fork and tilted her head. "Hi. I don't think we've ever met before."

"Oh! My apologies. We haven't. But that's a shame, in my eyes. Harada Renji, it's nice to meet you." He offered his hand.

"Matsumoto Rangiku," Matsumoto Rangiku said. He looked like a Renji. "Nice to meet you." She shook his hand. When she didn't say anything further, he resumed walking across the restaurant, presumably to the washroom.

"See you later, Matsumoto."

She just nodded.

When her ribs came she dug into them with barely an ounce of her normal 'lady-at-a-restaurant' restraint. But damn, were they good. When that meal was sitting happily in her stomach, she ordered a cup of tea. Green tea.

She sensed a man's reiatsu coming towards her. Assuming it was the man from before (she couldn't remember his name), she simply picked up her cup and kept sipping away. But this man brushed her shoulder.

His breath washed over her ears - hot and sticky. "Hey, there. I'm Jurou. What's your name?" His manner made it clear to her that he was asking her breasts.

She turned around to face him, moreso with the purpose of removing his face from its close position to her own. "My name is Matsumoto Rangiku," she said.

"Well, Rangiku, you are beautiful," he grinned, and she could just see herself punching out a few of those disgusting teeth.

"Thanks," she smiled without sentiment. Then she turned back around in her seat and picked up her cup.

"Whoa, whoa!" he shouted, much too loud in protest to her ignoring him, "let me take you out tonight, princess. We could have a ball."

She recoiled inwardly at the tone of his voice. What a dirtbag. "I'd really rather not."

"Why do you have to be so difficult, eh? I just wanna show you--"

"Sorry, bud. But you'll have to take a raincheck," the man from earlier cut in.

Dirtbag sneered. "And why's that? She's alone, sucker. She doesn't belong to you."

Matsumoto stood suddenly, affronted. "Sir, I am not a piece of property, and I have already refused your invitation."

"She's right," the other guy said. "And you better back off because I asked her out earlier." Here, he tossed her back a quick, apologetic glance for lying.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," a waitress said to dirtbag, stepping solidly in between the two men. "You are disturbing other patrons."

Dirtbag stood immobile for a moment, clearly outnumbered. Then he turned on his heel and left, tail between his legs, muttering some pretty unfriendly sounding stuff.

"I'm sorry about that, miss, sir," the waitress said immediately following dirtbag's departure. "You're welcome to a drink, or another cup of tea, on the house."

"I'd just like the cheque, please," Matsumoto began to say, when the man nudged her arm.

"Two more cups of tea, please," he told the waitress.

The waitress literally waited for Matsumoto's go ahead.

Matsumoto glanced at the man sidelong. "Yes," Matsumoto said, "green, please."

---

Yamamoto-soutaichou sat in the great hall where the captains assembled, deceptively old and weak beneath his robes. What some did not know though, was that this centuries-old captain was the strongest of all, and that his strength was second only to the knowledge that he had accumlated in his lifetime.

Even so, he was still wondering what the hell this guy was talking about.

"So Yamamoto-soutaichou, I would greatly appreciate your permission to venture to the Material world for the length of one Material world day, to aid my fukutaichou."

"No need to bow, taichou," Yamamoto commanded.

He straightened.

"Hitsguaya-taichou," Yamamoto inhaled, as if about to begin a long speech, "I have no idea of what you speak of."

Hitsugaya frowned. He blurted, "What?"

Yamamoto just raised one voluminious white eyebrow. "I never organized any such mission."

"Excuse me, Yamamoto-soutaichou," Hitsugaya bowed, then ran from the room.

---

It was 9:20. Matsumoto had broken her own promise to herself. But at least she'd done it by having some frozen yogurt.

"This is really good," she said for about the third time.

"I can't believe you've never had it before," Harada said. "It _really, really_ wasn't you I saw at pinkberry."

"Nope," she confirmed, digging into her yogurt again with the little spoon.

"Which one's yours?"

Matsumoto looked up from her pink confection to the side of the street. "Oh, it's coming up. The building with the stone cranes in front." She dug into her purse for her keys, retrieving them before she even got onto the porch. It had always been her habit. She stopped at the beginning of the walk to say goodnight.

"Could we meet again, Matsumoto?" Harada asked, his hazel eyes eager and honest.

Matsumoto bit her lip. "You're a very sweet guy, Harada. But I'm not from this city. If we were to meet again, it would have to be as friends."

He was obviously disappointed. "Oh, well. Yeah, we could. And... who knows? Maybe, if all goes well, we could keep... this up?"

She really, really didn't want to let Harada down harshly. But there was something wrong with saying a nonchalant "sure". She couldn't let Harada think this could lead to something else, especially something romantic.

When she didn't reply, he spoke again. "Do you like someone else? Do you have a boyfriend? I should've known you'd have a boyfriend..."

"I don't have a boyfriend. But... I do like someone else," she said, not realizing this until this very second. _She liked someone else._

"Oh. Well, he's very lucky," Harada said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry, Harada."

"It's okay, Matsumoto. Goodnight." He waved, and began to walk away.

"Goodnight, Harada," she said. She started up the walk to her apartment building.

---

Hitsugaya had done the 'normal' thing. Hitsugaya had done the 'miserable' thing. He'd even done the 'ignore it' thing.

But now, he was going to do the thing he should've tried from the start.

No time for gigais. Right when Hitsugaya stepped into the Material world, he scanned the radius around him for her signature.

---

Matsumoto let her hair out of its twist, swishing across her shoulderblades, shaking it out. She began to get into her nightclothes.

She felt particularly bad about letting Harada down because he was sweet, sweeter than most of the men she'd ever talked to. But now she knew she liked someone else, and it would be wrong to lead Harada on like that.

Being away for so long helped her to see it. She missed him more than a fukutaichou should.

She was more convinced than ever that she had to finish the machine, finish her mission and go back to Soul Society. She walked into the living room full of purpose. She would finish it tonight.

---

"Everything is culminating! Oh, I'm so proud of them."

"You need a hobby."

---

Matsumoto was so close. She had to only fit pretzel-Z into the hole that pretzel-fitter-17 and jigger-K20 made, and she was home!

The last click of the contraption into place, and she bounded away from it as quick as possible. It resembled a television, which made some sense, since the thing had come with a remote. She pressed on.

A certain familiar face appeared on the screen. "Congratulations, Rangiku-chan! You have built my communication device! Now, listen to your instructions..."

---

_There she was!_ Hitsugaya picked up on her power and sprinted towards it. The familiar bubble of orange was a huge comfort to him - who knows what could've happened to her on this psuedo-mission. He was getting closer to her, closer...

Wait! She disappeared?

What was happening?

---

Matsumoto followed her instructions, leaving Karakura for Soul Society. She could've been mad at such a huge waste of time the mission was, but she wasn't. It had a purpose, and she'd accomplished it.

Now, if she could just see him again...

---

Hitsugaya burst into the apartment he'd detected her in earlier. It was indeed hers. There were about five bottles of alcohol in the garbage, and a lot of hair products in the washroom. The most obvious, striking thing was the machine in the living room. Displayed on the screen was a frozen image of a certain smiling eighth division taichou. There was a huge hole in that screen.

Matsumoto had always had a monsterous punch.

-

"_He's not here?_" Matsumoto yelled incredulously.

"No, he's not, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, but I'm sure if you wait awhile, he'll return," Ukitake-taichou said, wanting to console the raging woman.

"Did _he_ do this? Did he send Hitsugaya away on purpose, just to _torment me_ for that much longer?"

"Matsumoto, please, Hitsugaya-taichou left of his own accord-"

"I don't care- wait, what? Left on his own?"

"I think," Ukitake smiled now. "I think he left to find you."

"Oh," Matsumoto said, looking completely calm now. She sat. "Oh."

The door slid open without warning.

"Matsumoto?"

Matsumoto whirled.

Hitsugaya stood in the frame, breathing heavily.

"Hitsugaya-taichou," said not Matsumoto, but Ukitake. He smiled a full-fledged smile. "Please, come in."

"Thank you, Ukitake-taichou. Matsumoto-fukutaichou, are you alright?" Sweat trickled down his forehead. His hair was limp.

"Taichou, I'm fine."

"That idiot Kyouraku. He sent you on a fake mission, didn't he? What the hell was he doing?"

Matsumoto started several sentences in her head.

"I must go to the cafeteria. Late night snack," Ukitake interjected quietly. Then he left, to the fleeting notice of both the other occupants of the room.

Matsumoto's eyes trailed Hitsugaya as he sat on the cushion next to hers, folding his feet beneath him.

"Matsumoto-fukutaichou, I'm sorry for being so short with you the other day. I should've asked you why you came back, instead of sending you back without a word." He had thought on how he'd say this, but now it had come out so quickly and perfectly, without a stumble at all.

"Apology accepted, Hitsugaya-taichou," Matsumoto said, wondering in the back of her mind if this was when she should say it. How the heck was she supposed to say it?

"A-and Matsumoto, I have something for you." He materialized a pink scarf from between his robes, offering it to her in typical boy style - here, take it.

Despite its long trip with him, it retained not a wrinkle. When she put it around her neck, it settled perfectly around her, fitting in with her hair and her clothes. It was a beautiful scarf. It smelled a little like him.

"I bought it for you before you came back, that first time," he was explaining now, babbling so much more than usual, and she wondered why this was so. "I didn't mean for it to be an apology gift. I thought it... suited you."

Matsumoto touched it fondly, not caring if it was meant as an apology or not. He had picked this specifically for her. "Thank you, taichou."

"You're welcome, Matsumoto," he said quietly.

"So-"

"Taichou-" they said in unison.

"You first," Matsumoto urged, losing her nerve again. Who would've thought, Matsumoto Rangiku a timid confession-maker?

"Um, why did Kyouraku send you away?" Hitsugaya asked, his green eyes purely curious. "I saw that you had punched his picture," he added as an aside.

"Ha ha," Matsumoto laughed a tad nervously, knowing that this was her opening. "Well, he sent me on a fake mission to Karakura with the intention of... erm, self-discovery."

Hitsugaya narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more. This was the problem with good listeners. They never interrupted you, effectively putting you out of your misery.

_Come on, you pansy,_ she thought to herself.

"And I acheived that mission, so I came back to Soul Society."

"If it was a fake mission, I'm not sure if you even needed to see it through," Hitsugaya said, his tone conveying exactly what he thought of Kyouraku in that moment.

"Oh, I think it was worth it."

"Hm," Hitsugaya said. He wasn't going to ask about the (fake) mission, was he? She was going to have to do this all on her own...

"It was very worth it. I spent some time away, and I realized," she said, looking stupidly straight-on into his face. "I realized that I missed you."

Hitsugaya blinked.

"I missed you more than a fukutaichou should, taichou." Here, she dug her fingers into her new scarf, the cotton surprisingly cool against her feverish skin. "I... like you."

Hitsugaya looked like he wasn't even breathing. That is, until he squeaked out, "Oh."

She let her confession hang there, each second passing like a cougar tearing at a carcass. She pulled on her scarf. "Okay," she murmured, "I should go."

"Matsumoto, wait," he asked of her.

She sat in silence, fear and hope colouring her expression.

"This mission made me realize that, uh, I don't like... having you... away. From me." His fingers scrunched his pants again and again. "It felt. Funny." She knew he disliked unnecessary movement. She lifted her hands from her beautiful scarf and held her breath.

"I... like you, too."

Her smile was huge, a million watts, and she honestly felt like she might cry any second. Her nose bridge was stinging and her hands were shaky with adrenaline and the force of her hug knocked them both to the floor of Ukitake's office.

"Can I kiss you, taichou?" she asked, her hair and her scarf and her skin all around him, the fire in the lamps lighting her up.

He smiled too, reaching up to grab his present to her. "Please."

---

"Ah, young love," Kyouraku sighed, his master plan having gone exactly as desired.

Ukitake unwrapped a candy. "Beautiful, isn't it? Unfortunately, I'm thinking they'll be coming soon to pound your head into the ground."

Kyouraku plucked the candy from his friend's fingers. "I know."


	23. Somewhere Only We Know, Normal

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: So I read the special on Hitsugaya and Matsumoto's first meeting, and had to write something related. Here we go!

39. SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW  
Every night, when the moon is clear enough to be seen, he scales the side of the house and sits on the roof.

She watches him do so, having fetched water from the well not so long ago. She scurries inside, dumps the water into a jug, then comes back out and turns the bucket over - a step up to him.

She chooses her seat very carefully. Too close and he'll shy away. Too far and she won't be able to read him. Already, she knows - there are things he won't tell her, and she'll need to find out for herself.

"Good evening." Surprisingly, he greets her first.

"Good evening, boy," she returns.

They sit, silent. The clouds drift over the half moon, puffy dark fingers covering blue light. The other homes in the district snake out in spiralling paths towards the horizon, dotting the dark ground with flickers of candlelight shining from open windows.

The roof creaks a little as he shifts his weight. She turns to see him looking at her. But he says nothing.

"Have you told you grandmother yet?"

His gaze falls. "I haven't made up my mind."

She narrows her eyes at him, though not meanly, the gesture akin to the flash of the moon over ice. "Haven't you?"

He sends a half-hearted glare her way. "You wouldn't understand."

Not one for tiptoeing around the subject, she sallies forth. "I think I would. Everyone experiences those kinds of ties to the people they care about."

He just keeps staring at the sky. The wind suddenly kicks up, turning the pail end over end into the house.

She immediately recognizes his hand in the wind. His power is too strong to be left without tempering. He must learn to manipulate his power properly, or it will be left to roam freely, without his consent.

"I dream sometimes," he says now. "Of ice. I dreamt of a dragon made of ice. I know what it means."

She stays quiet.

"I just don't want to tell her." Now, his eyes fall from the moon.

Aware of the risk, she scoots closer. "Oh, boy, she's your grandmother. If there is anyone who would understand, it's her."

He brings his gaze up to her. He looks petrified for awhile, long enough for her to tell that he's scared of many things, that he's quickly getting out of his depth and he doesn't like it at all. He's scared of telling his grandmother that he has to leave for the Academy. But he's scared of leaving his home. He's scared of the power he knows is his. He's scared that his grandmother will be happy for his choice - that it'll feel like she's leaving him, and not the other way around.

He just can't do this by himself.

"It'll be okay," she promises. She knows it's little comfort now, but she'll show him that it's the right fit for him.

His eyes dance from her face to the ground below. For the second time she notices his eyes - the first being after he opened them from his nap - were the purest blue green. So wide in his young face.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Hitsugaya Toushirou. How about yours?"

"Matsumoto Rangiku."

"... Nice to meet you."

"Same, here, Toushirou-kun."

It's quiet for awhile. She swings her feet from the roof.

He clears his throat. "I don't like being called 'Toushirou-kun'."

She just smiles.

-

40. NORMAL  
Everyone knew that Matsumoto had a big, mushy soft spot when it came to her captain. It wasn't her fault. He was the most adorable grouch she'd ever met, dead or no. He was always so serious, the young skin across his forehead creased, his little mouth quirked into a frown. His angry face couldn't have been cuter if you stuck him in a bunny suit. Nope, it was all on Hitsugaya. She only did what could be expected of her.

So it really stunned her one day to see him in a _good mood_.

He was sitting at his desk. The usual brush and ink were nowhere to be seen. He was reading a book. Of course, he read it with his back straight and the book flat on the table, so as to not damage the bottom of the spine. Some things you just couldn't change.

"Hitsugaya-taichou?" She walked cautiously toward his desk. She had a creeping feeling that he might whip his head up and give her his disapproving look, and in doing so, bring balance back to the world.

He looked up, closing his book, indicating that he could always get back to reading later. So polite. The look on his face was decidedly calm. "Yes, Matsumoto?"

She analyzed his behaviour for any hidden hostility, or any sort of repressed rage. She scanned his face for the usual crinkle over his forehead or tug downwards at the corners of his lips. She saw nothing. "Are you alright, taichou?"

He only raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I'm fine."

She pulled the couch with her, closer to him, perched on the wooden armrest and set her arms on his desk. He watched this all without the slightest hint of annoyance, though there was some curiosity in there. Why wasn't he more mad that she'd rearranged his furniture?

"Is today something special?" she asked him, resting her chin in her palm. "A birthday... an anniversary?"

"No," he replied hesitantly, as if she might bite at the answer. "Why are you acting so strangely?"

She wanted to laugh. Her acting strangely? It was _him_ who was acting strangely. Why was he... in such a good mood? It was odd. It was downright _eerie_.

"Me?" She pointed to herself as if it weren't obvious. "I'm fine."

"Alright," he replied, leaning back in his chair. He eyed her with some skepticism. The furrow of his brow was a little relieving to see, but it was the wrong kind of brow furrow. She felt that it was time to take some action.

"My reports on recruitment for the division will be late."

"Okay," he said a little uncertainly. A high whistle came from the back corner of the office, where a kettle was kept. He rose to attend to it.

She stayed seated where she was, her bottom beginning to go a little numb from sitting in such a strange position. But she couldn't be bothered by it. Damn. He hardly flickered at that one.

"Do you want some tea?" he asked her. He was pouring himself a cup.

"Sure," she replied absently, lost in more schemes.

He returned to his desk, two steaming cups in hand. He set hers before her with a neutral expression, seeming to have regained some composure. He sipped at his tea. Where Matsumoto had her alcohol, he had his tea. She knew it was his own way of dealing with things. A stack of reports at 2 a.m.? Tea. Malfunctioning hollow tracker? Tea. Oddly acting subordinates? Tea. She entertained the notion of swiping it from him, just to see him frown thunderously at her. She'd return it, of course.

Or maybe she could _spill_ some tea, effectively _wasting_ it. And she could spill it over some _paperwork_. Oh yeah. That was a good one.

"Matsumoto?"

"Yes, taichou?" she answered, jolted out of her plans.

"You don't need to hand those reports in," he said.

"Pardon?" she asked. What was he talking about?

"The reports on recruitment," he enunciated, clearly questioning her attention span. Nonetheless, he seemed good natured enough about it. "You don't have to do them."

_What?_ She was thoroughly unsettled by all this. She couldn't stand for this anymore, this... this _relatively normal Hitsugaya Toushirou_. She was entitled to her daily frown, dammit. This was like sacrilege!

"Taichou, you're frigid."

"What?" he said, a hint of incredulity in his tone at her out-of-place comment.

"And you're short."

"Matsumoto--" he bristled, his expression darkening quickly.

"And..." she flailed for something else. "And you have bad taste in tea!" (She didn't actually think this - he really knew his tea.) She punctuated this statement by slamming her hand against his desk--

Only to send his near-full teacup toppling over into his lap. Oops.

He jumped up immediately, the scalding liquid dripping all over. "_MATSUMOTO!_"

She squealed in delight. There it was! Her favourite frown! Intensely relieved and unable to hold back, she tackled him with a giant hug.

"_Maffooouto!_" he hollered, crushed against her chest. "Leff me out!"

That was more like it. Matsumoto giggled and clamped on tighter, glad to have her little grouch back.


	24. This Happens All the Time, Hold, A Bit

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: 42 is the wedding request from 6StringSamurai13. 43 is the hair request from antrax1 from way back in 2007 when I still wrote periodically for this collection (sheepish grin?). Sorry for the wait!  
A note on #42: hitting dinnerware happens frequently in Chinese wedding dinners to encourage the newlyweds to kiss.  
As is always the case, reviews are welcome! Does anyone still read this? Heh.

-

41. THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME  
Hitsugaya sat as still as a cobra ready to strike.

Matsumoto lazed about like a sloth already past the point of bored.

"Taichouuu."

Hitsugaya managed to grit out a quiet - but still seeping full of anger - "What?" which was impressive in itself. The boy captain was indeed multi-talented.

"This stakeout is boring," lamented his vice captain, pinching a lock of golden hair between her fingers.

"Even so," continued Hitsugaya in his talented voice, "stakeouts require _silence_."

Matsumoto only let her lock of hair fall past her nose. Hitsugaya took this to mean that Matsumoto got the message.

-

42. HOLD YOUR PEACE  
He and Matsumoto had been holding hands all night, her gloved fingers looking slippery underneath his. Her ring stands out against the silk, boasting an exquisitely cut diamond atop a simple band of white gold. The ring is so _her_. It strikes you that the ring is also so _him_.

Matsumoto is married.

You swallow thickly, as if this fact will finally cement itself in your brain. They're sitting right across from you for crying outloud. You were a groomsman. You knew it was coming. You had nearly a year to prepare.

Suddenly, someone hits their spoon to their glass, tinkling impatiently. Everyone else picks up on it, too, hitting chopsticks to bowls to plates. Your head shoots up. Matsumoto is blushing.

God, she's beautiful. She's so incredibly happy. It tears you apart inside that you can't make her feel or look that way. You know you should be joining this cacophony of noise, but you can't lift your chopsticks.

They both stand, and everyone is appeased. The noise cuts off.

Matsumoto leans down and a few people titter. But then it's happening - her eyes close and his eyes close and their faces come together, like two halves of a whole and they're kissing and you just about die.

Everyone bursts into applause, joyfully laughing when they finally pull apart and even her husband seems a bit flushed. Someone hits their spoon to their cup again jokingly. You sigh defeatedly.

Matsumoto takes off her ring, only to put it back on once her gloves are off. She grabs her husband's hand again. Skin-to-skin. The ring shines magnificently on her finger. Her smile could shame the sun.

Matsumoto is married. To Hitsugaya.

And you're not him.

-

43. JUST A LITTLE BIT  
Taichou's little bit of hair that breaks rank from the rest of it all, falling across his forehead, is always in the way.

It pokes me in the eye and tickles my nose when I kiss him. It's annoying when I'm not in the mood - when I'm cranky, when I'm tired. Those times, I smooth my hands over his forehead, my fingers gliding over the tense muscles of his face and up into his hairline. I sweep it back, combing through his snow-white hair, trying to calm myself. I tell my temper that the consequences aren't worth whatever it's plotting. Taichou watches me sometimes, other times he closes his eyes. My fingers drift to his temples and I massage them for him.

When I'm bored, it's always there, waiting to be tampered with. Sometimes it's twirling, sometimes it's tugging, most times it's gelling it straight up so he looks less like himself. Making him look goofy always alleviates my ennui - I burst into laughter right away, then comb it back down before he makes me clean the office bathroom.


	25. A Fine Mess

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: I may or may not write a sequel to this. It depends on how motivated I am, and how much you readers want one. If you want a continuation, please say so! If not, then you are still welcome to review, of course. And yupadoodle, I still take requests. Please enjoy...

-

44. A FINE MESS  
Three loud raps sounded off of the tenth division's office door. "Rangiku-san? Rangikuuuu," called Yamada Reiko, eighth seat of the fourth.

"I think they're training this morning," Hisagi said helpfully, balancing a heaping lunch in his arms and opening his own office door very slowly.

Yamada flushed scarlet and overreacted, "I knew that!" and just about tripped over her own feet running away.

Hisagi raised an eyebrow, then continued to reach for the door. He then watched as his orange wobbled and inevitably fell to the ground. "Bugger," he sighed, and prepared to start a long battle with gravity, as the rest of his lunch would fall as soon as he bent over.

"Yours?"

Hisagi looked up.

Well, not _that_ far up.

For, holding out his orange was Hitsugaya-taichou.

"Yes, thank you, Hitsugaya-taichou." He reached for his orange.

Hitsugaya instead moved smoothly to open the ninth division's office door. "Try not to work yourself too hard, Hisagi-fukutaichou."

Hisagi grinned sheepishly, caught in the act. "Thank you for your concern, sir."

Hitsugaya placed the orange on top of Hisagi's precarious lunch pile.

"Oy, Shuuei," Matsumoto said, peaking around the tenth's doorframe. "Working over your lunch break again?"

Rather than admit to the obvious, Hisagi commented, "You got back awfully quickly after Yamada left."

Hitsugaya frowned and murmured, "That woman is a gossip."

"They don't get along," Matsumoto whispered to Hisagi conspiratorially.

"Matsumoto!" Hitsugaya bellowed, already heading into the tenth's office, "Don't _you_ start on me!"

"That's my cue to leave," Matsumoto continued on in a whisper. "See you, Shuuei!" And she darted quickly into the tenth's office.

Hitsugaya looked up at her from the cup of tea he was pouring. "Matsumoto?"

"Yes, please," she replied hurriedly, rummaging through her desk, not looking up.

He moved onto the next cup as she produced two lunchboxes from her desk. "Ta-da!" She beamed, grinning infectiously.

Despite his expectations, Hitsugaya smiled back at his lieutenant. "And these are your new and improved mochi?"

Matsumoto dragged her chair over to share Hitsugaya's desk. "Yup! Oh, I'm so excited for you to try them, taichou!"

"Because I'm the only one brave enough?"

Matsumoto grabbed her teacup. "Oh, listen to this - _comedian Hitsugaya-taichou_ just thinks he's so funny. Har har."

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes. "As excited as you are, I'm sure we can't make a lunch out of only mochi. Did you want to get anything from the cafeteria?"

"Ramen."

Hitsugaya refrained from scrunching his nose.

Still, Matsumoto caught his disdain. "Hey, you offered."

"I offered to let you come with me," he replied, not pleased with the idea of carrying the salty, oily mess of noodles back in one hand and his own lunch in the other.

"I have to arrange my mochi. Presentation is half the work of cooking, you know."

"I guess the other half is rehydrating the precooked meal?"

Matsumoto stuck her tongue out like a six year old. "You slay me, really."

Hitsugaya just smirked and pulled the door open.

Whereupon his forehead met the rapping of a set of knuckles.

"Yamada."

She seemed to wake from a daze, not realizing that her knuckles were knocking Hitsugaya, and not the door. "Oh! G-goodness. My apologies," she stuttered, turning pink. Yamada was an easy blusher, he thought.

"No harm done," he replied, the teensiest bit irked.

"He's got a tough skull," Matsumoto piped up from her position on the couch.

"Shouldn't you be arranging mochi, woman?"

Matsumoto promptly jumped up, exaggerating her movements and arranging the confections along the edges of their plates.

Hitsugaya resumed his quest to the cafeteria. Yamada entered the office with ease. He expected as much. Yamada and Matsumoto gossiped like old women on daytime television.

"Hitsugaya-taichou!" His fourth seat ran up, bowing awkwardly in her run.

"Hiwatari," Hitsugaya greeted, bowing in return. His division always bowed, he always bowed in return. They had somehow gotten the impression that he was a stickler for etiquette. He snorted internally - it wasn't too far off the mark.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to join me for lunch, taichou, to discuss the latest proposal I put forward?"

They had drifted toward the counter heaped with main courses. He heaved a bowl of Matsumoto's favourite into the crook of his left arm.

Hiwatari's smile fell. "Oh, you're having lunch with Matsumoto-fukutaichou today?"

Hitsugaya's left eyebrow rose.

Hiwatari, usually unflappable, squirmed the slightest bit. "We just know that you don't eat ramen, and that fukutaichou does."

Hitsugaya just took a plate of gyoza in hand and said, "Lunch won't be possible today. I have already looked at your proposal though. It seems very sound."

Hiwatari beamed. "Lunch tomorrow?"

"Alright," Hitsugaya agreed. He paid. He said bye. He left.

Halfway back to his office, he heard Yamada and Matsumoto in the middle of their gossip session. Damn, women were loud. Or maybe it was just _those two_.

"Oh, Yamada! I just have no idea what to wear. It's been so long," Matsumoto's distinctive trilling came from behind the door.

"Matsumoto-san, I'm sure anything you wear will look beautiful! Besides, if he judges you based on that, you toss him, and fast."

Hitsugaya bristled - who was judging Matsumoto?

"It's just been so long since I've been on a date! It's kind of funny. I'm _never_ nervous."

_What?_ Hitsugaya's concern quickly evaporated. Matsumoto was going on a date?

"You have no need to be, honey! You are just as gorgeous as he is!"

"Yamada, you flatterer."

"Ha ha, what? I'm just saying you are a bona fide beauty! And he is... every kind of hot."

Hitsugaya felt a flush creep up the back of his neck.

Matsumoto was dating a..._ hottie_? Why had she never told him this?

He realized that he had been standing outside his own door for far longer than was proper. He knocked with his elbow, to give them time to compose themselves.

"Coming!" called Matsumoto happily.

"That's my cue," whispered Yamada. Silly Yamada, thinking he couldn't hear. "Well, I'll be off now! You have a good day, Hitsugaya-taichou! Tell me about it later, Matsumoto!"

"Goodbye, Yamada," Hitsugaya said, struggling to keep a neutral tone. He turned to his lieutenant. She was hovering innocently over her mochi, like she'd been doing so all along. She'd arranged them into smilely faces.

"Your ramen," he murmured, setting it down at her elbow.

"Thanks, taichou," she chirped. "I made more tea while you were out."

"Thank you," he said. He speared a gyoza.

They ate. Matsumoto slurped and snarfed, letting the world know it was lunchtime, while Hitsugaya chewed soundlessly, thinking.

He finally decided that the best way was the easiest way.

After Matsumoto had finished (so her mouth would be free to do some talking), Hitsugaya dropped the question.

"So. Who are you dating?"

Matsumoto stiffened the tiniest bit. "Oh, taichou, so you know about that?"

"Yes. Who is it?"

Her eyes darted this way and that, like she was horribly guilty of committing a crime. "A new guy... he was admitted two days ago."

Two days ago? That wasn't very long to get acquainted at all. Though, that did explain his lack of knowledge about the inner workings of the Gotei 13. Namely, the fact that no one dated Matsumoto without Hitsugaya's clearing of it first.

Hitsugaya called up his perfect memory and scrolled back two days. He did remember seeing some new admittances... there was one in particular that seemed like the type to ask Matsumoto out. Blue hair, tanned skin, biceps larger than his neck. Hirano? Hiruka?

Matsumoto narrowed her eyes, suddenly on the offensive. "I know what you're thinking, taichou! You're thinking that you'll go _educate_ Hirano now, aren't you? You're thinking that you'll scare the bejeezus out of him, like you did to the others?"

Hitsugaya's eyes lit. Hirano.

Matsumoto saw his reaction and facepalmed, realizing her mistake.

Hitsugaya reached for a mochi now, satisfied.

Matsumoto swiped the plate out from under his chopsticks. "Taichou! You have to promise not to do anything!"

"Why?" Hitsugaya scoffed.

Matsumoto held the mochi plate high in the air. They looked in danger of slipping and falling off. "It's been so long since I've been on a date! No one's dared to ask me out since you traumatized Feng 3 years ago!"

Hitsugaya shrugged. "He was less than worthy."

"You froze him for not knowing what my favourite flowers are!"

Hitsugaya raised his eyebrows and drawled, "He should've known. It's fairly obvious."

"You put him out on display!"

"There's no law against it."

"And until now, no one would date me!"

Hitsugaya merely looked up at his lieutenant. Her cheeks were pink from exertion and her hand was a deadly white from holding up the plate of mochi. Her arm was probably going numb.

"Your arm must be numb," he observed.

"Don't do anything, taichou," she said, unwavered. Her eyebrows were drawn down and her mouth had become a line.

Hitsugaya made a point of rolling his eyes. Stubborn woman. "I won't do anything to Hirano."

Her face was disbelieving at having won so easily. If she knew anything about Hitsugaya, it was that he was stubborn. "Really?"

Hitsugaya sipped his tea boredly. "Really. Now let me try one of your horrible mochi."

She relented, smiling, setting the plate down.

Hitsugaya ran a mochi through with a chopstick, contemplating its centre. "So. He's a hottie."

Matsumoto frowned. "Since when do you use that word?"

She hadn't denied it. Interesting. He nibbled on the mochi.

"I've heard things. I've seen things," he said instead.

"You've seen him? What do you think?" Matsumoto perked up.

Hitsugaya was in no way a guy-hotness barometer. His method of judging was to hate everyone Matsumoto dated on sight. He didn't say that though. What he said was, "Fine."

Matsumoto made her annoyed face. "Fine?"

Hitsugaya chanced biting into the mochi. It tasted pretty good, actually. He wondered if the world was ending - that was the only way _any_ of Matsumoto's cooking could taste good. "Fine, for an obvious bonehead."

Her temper flared. She would not speak to him about this anymore. She fixed him with one hard look and left the office.

Hitsugaya watched her leave.

He speared another mochi and thought up a plan. Matsumoto had made him promise not to _do_ anything. And though he had always believed that actions spoke louder than words...

He hadn't promised not to _say_ anything.

-

At home, Matsumoto rubbed at her arm. It had gone numb earlier, when she was keeping her homemade mochi away from her ridiculous taichou.

Oh, crud. She'd left them at his office!

Oh, well. She had a date to prepare for.

First, she took a nap. Beauty sleep was, indeed, beautiful, plus Hitsugaya and her had gone through a particularly rough set of maneuvers that morning and she was tired. When she awoke, she showered, found a deep blue dress in the back of her closet that complimented her hair, stuck some hoops in her ears and product in her hair. She'd thought it'd take longer, but she supposed the practise of so many date nights before had honed her skills subconsciously.

Hitsugaya was the main reason for those date nights ceasing to exist, she thought. It would've been cute, how protective he was, excepting the fact that it was really annoying. He knew just as well as she did that she could handle herself.

That crazy captain of hers was really one of a kind.

_Knock, knock._

6:05. He was quite early! Hadn't they agreed upon 6:30?

She hurried to answer the knocks, a bounce in her step. She tore the door open...

Then looked down a good two feet from where she had expected his face to be.

"Matsumoto." Hitsugaya clenched his jaw, unimpressed.

Matsumoto tried her best to mirror his expression. "Oh, taichou. Come to apologize?"

"No, I came to return your plate." He held out the pale green plate to illustrate.

A look of distress immediately surfaced on her face. "Where are all my mochi?"

"May I come in?" he asked instead, raising an eyebrow.

"You have to leave at 6:25. Hirano's coming at 6:30." When he nodded, she stepped aside.

He deposited his shoes by the entrance while she took her plate back. He cleared his throat, then said to her retreating back, "They were all eaten."

The clunk of the plate in the sink. "_By you?_"

"No, actually," he answered, "By a lot of people."

She emerged in the kitchen doorway. "Wow! That's wonderful! _I_ didn't get any, but..."

Hitsugaya tilted his head at Matsumoto. She looked different. Her hair was... her skin was...

"Taichou, tea?"

He scrunched his forehead. Um. "Yes." He padded into her bright kitchen. The walls were yellow and her counters and tables were all white. A crystal was hung in the window over the sink, catching sunlight and reflecting it over her bare arms.

She handed a cup to him. The soft, pale skin of the underside of her wrist brushed his fingers.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. She sat, and he did too.

She sighed, the very picture of relaxation.

She'd thought she'd stay mad at her taichou for longer, but she didn't feel mad at all. She wasn't really mad to start with, she supposed. He'd only acted as expected of his silly protective self.

The kitchen was very quiet.

Hitsugaya figured it out. Matsumoto was wearing blue. "You look very nice, Matsumoto," he said, before he actually thought to say it.

She blinked, surprised but pleased. "Thank you, Hitsugaya-taichou."

He took a sip of his tea and shrugged. It was true. "When is Hirano picking you up?"

She looked at the clock on the wall above her. It was slightly eccentric - it was in the shape of a green sprout. "In five minutes."

"Oh." He was supposed to leave now, according to earlier rules. But he knew better. She seemed to have forgotten those rules anyway.

"More tea?" he asked, standing.

"Yes, please."

He poured tea for the both of them, spilling not a drop, and sat again. The cup was at his lips the instant he sat down.

Twenty minutes later, Hirano had still not shown up for Matsumoto and Matsumoto had not yet kicked out Hitsugaya.

"Maybe he changed his mind," Hitsugaya said, starting on his third cup of tea.

Matsumoto had not drank since 6:36, one minute outside of the "five minutes doesn't count as late" rule. She picked up the cup now. "He would've told me though. Did he leave a message at the office while I was away?" She put the cup down.

"No," Hitsugaya's answer rang with innocence.

She chewed on her bottom lip and cracked her knuckles.

Hitsugaya's head rested on his palm. He almost copied her, seeing the motions, but stopped. He didn't do useless things like that.

Seven minutes later, Hitsugaya needed to go to the washroom.

"Down the hall, first door--"

"I know, Matsumoto. I've been here before," he said, rising from the table.

"Right," she responded. She'd laid her head down on the table a few moments ago. The orangey-blonde fanned out across the tabletop, her thick curls reaching his side of the table. The melon smell of mousse hit his nose.

When he returned, she was sipping on her tea. "I guess he's not coming."

Hitsugaya put his hands in the pockets of his casual pants and didn't sit down.

She was oddly still for herself. "Oh, well," she said quietly.

Ay, yi, yi. Hitsugaya looked at his vice-captain, all dressed up for nothing. "Matsumoto," he said in his captain voice.

Her blue eyes flicked up to his face.

"No wallowing. I'll take you out."

She looked harder at his face, searching. No hint of this being a joke? She smiled, despite her situation. "Okay, taichou."

-

The next day at the office, Hisagi worked over his lunch again, and Hitsugaya picked up his fallen banana. Then Yamada came knocking. He answered. He sensed a routine in the making.

"Could you get me a ramen bowl, taichou?" asked Matsumoto. "Hi, Yamada."

"I have a meeting today, Matsumoto. Sorry."

"Hi, Matsumoto-san!" Yamada called.

"Okay. Late lunch?" she suggested.

Hitsugaya hovered by the door. "It's over lunch, sorry."

Matsumoto pouted a bit. "Fine. See you later, taichou."

He nodded a goodbye and shut the door behind him.

"So, how'd your date go?" Yamada practically burst out, plopping herself down on the couch next to Matsumoto. She was ready to analyze every action and word of Matsumoto's date into oblivion.

"He didn't show," Matsumoto said. She didn't seem fazed.

Yamada looked scandalized. "He _what_? To _you_?"

Matsumoto shrugged blithely. "I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I've no reason not to."

Yamada could hardly believe her ears. "Sure you do! He didn't even contact you beforehand? He just let you wait for him? _Weren't you upset?_"

Matsumoto recognized a bit of feminist spirit in Yamada's outrage. "No, he didn't contact me. But I'll give him a chance to explain. Besides," she continued, smiling at the memory, "Hitsugaya-taichou took me out in Hirano's stead."

Now Yamada looked confused. "You went out on a date with _Hitsugaya_?"

Matsumoto was quick to correct her. "Not a date. We went out as friends. Not as captain and lieutenant, and not as boyfriend and girlfriend."

Yamada critically examined Matsumoto. Matsumoto had lay down on the couch, looking up relaxedly at the ceiling. She was much, much too calm. Did she not realize the significance of what was happening? Yamada voiced one of her swirling thoughts - "Does Hitsugaya know that?"

Matsumoto scoffed now - a mannerism she'd picked up from Hitsugaya. "What do you mean? Of course he knows that. He's the most proper man I've ever known."

Yamada made a disbelieving face. "Maybe he wants to date you and used Hirano's not showing up as his golden opportunity."

Matsumoto let all Yamada's theories flow past her, reviewing last night's bounty in her head - a concert ticket and the leftovers of her dessert. The music from last night was absolutely beautiful. Hitsugaya had told her it was music he'd listened to in his life on earth. She'd felt mildly jealous, but awed as well.

Yamada chattered on. "Has he given you any hints lately? A man's actions definitely speak louder than his words."

Matsumoto tossed her a bone. "He pulled out my chair for me at dinner."

Yamada's eyes lit with a frightening gleam. "That is definitely date-like behaviour!" She turned to Matsumoto pointedly, grabbing her forearm and squeezing. "He _wants_ you!"

Matsumoto sucked in a cheek. "He's also a gentleman, no matter what."

"Tell me more!" Yamada all but squeaked. She'd always thought there was something there...

Matsumoto laid the back of her hand across her eyes, suddenly tired of Yamada's energy. "He took me out to cheer me up. We went to a restaurant. He pulled out my chair," - here, Yamada squealed with delight - "and we ate three courses. Then he paid, and we went to a concert."

The pressure on her arm increased. "He paid?"

"Yes."

"What kind of music?"

"Orchestra music, I don't know. He's listened to it for a long time. He loves it." Here, she softened, remembering how moving it was. "It was beautiful."

Yamada's sharp intake of breath caught her attention.

Despite herself, Matsumoto sat up. "What?"

Yamada looked at her, that odd predatory gleam gone. She whispered theatrically, "That boy is in love with you."

Matsumoto felt slightly annoyed. How could Yamada toss around a word like 'love'? "Hitsugaya-taichou is not in love with me."

"He paid for two three-course meals. He pulled out your chair. He shared a non-work related part of his past with you," Yamada ticked the points off on her fingers. "And I bet he scared off Hirano."

Now, Matsumoto let a small frown show through. "I made him promise not to."

"Love makes a man do _crazy things_." Yamada lifted her eyebrows for emphasis.

Matsumoto thought up a reply in her head. Hitsugaya-taichou in love with her? There was absolutely no way. He was a gentleman, that was all. Even his interests were gentlemanly - attending concerts with polite crowds and no subwoofers.

Just as she was about to voice this, the door slid open.

"--the office. Come in, Hiwatari," Hitsugaya was saying.

Yamada just winked at Matsumoto and stood up. "Looks like I've got to get back to the hospital, Matsumoto. See you later," she said, and to Matsumoto, it sounded like a warning.

Matsumoto watched Yamada leave and fourth seat Hiwatari enter. Hiwatari's shiny, dark hair was pulled back into a braid that swayed back and forth with her steps. "Hello, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," she greeted, bowing.

Matsumoto smiled back, trying not to let Yamada's theories unsettle her. "Good afternoon."

Hitsugaya pulled out a thick stack of paper. "Hiwatari, this is all the necessary documentation. Half is for me, the other half for you. You have to rephrase the proposal to address the council."

Matsumoto recognized that this was boring secretarial stuff and promptly stopped listening. She walked quietly over to Haineko and unsheathed her sword. Reflected in the gleam of Haineko's blade was Hiwatari, and Matsumoto began looking without really noticing.

Fourth seat Hiwatari was pale, but not unhealthy. She was pale in the way that cultured ladies of royal courts were. Her eyes were blue, striking against the black of her hair. Her nose was straight and her lips were full. She was quite pretty.

Matsumoto turned. Hitsugaya was still talking, stabbing parts of each form, navigating his way through each sheet.

Hiwatari was listening, nodding her head at each new thing her taichou said. But more often than not, she was looking at Hitsugaya. Her eyes were soft, gazing at that little bit of hair falling over Hitsugaya's forehead, at the furrow of his brow.

Matsumoto recognized that look immediately.

"So, that's all," Hitsugaya said, looking up from the papers. His voice woke Matsumoto from a seeming daze. "We'll submit this in ten days." He stuck out his hand to Hiwatari.

She took it, and they shook. "Thank you so much for your support, Hitsugaya-taichou."

Hitsugaya let her hand go first, Matsumoto saw. "It's no problem."

"Good day, Hitsugaya-taichou, Matsumoto-fukutaichou." She bowed and left the office.

Matsumoto had registered Hiwatari's goodbye too late and stood planted to the floor like a moron.

"Matsumoto?"

Matsumoto blinked. She hadn't blinked for a long time, and her eyes felt it. Ow. "Uh, yes, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"What are you doing with Haineko?"

Matsumoto had forgot she was still holding her sword. She had forgot that she had fingers and toes and that the world was turning. "Making sure she was properly sharpened, taichou," her voice sounded impressively offhand. She sheathed Haineko.

"I saw Hirano," Hitsugaya said now, taking a seat behind his desk.

Matsumoto just nodded.

"He said to tell you sorry."

The thought came to her that she should act like she cared. "Did he say anything else?" she asked.

Now, Hitsugaya's usually direct gaze flickered down. "No."

She just nodded some more. This did not matter particularly much to her right now. Looking over the past half hour, Matsumoto came to a few conclusions.

One, Hiwatari liked Hitsugaya-taichou. Really liked.

Two, Hitsugaya was a gentleman with no inkling of this fact. An oblivious gentleman.

Three, when Matsumoto had seen the look in Hiwatari's eyes, she'd undoubtedly felt possessive of her taichou.

Hitsugaya may not be in love with her, but she was definitely starting to fall for him.

-

The soccer ball bounced off of his toes and he ran forward to meet it again. He kept it perfectly under his control, zigzagging up and down the field. He let the spinning black and white hypnotize him.

The truth was, that little bit of a lie he'd told Matsumoto earlier that afternoon was gnawing at him. Hirano hadn't said hi. Hirano never would say hi because Hitsugaya scared him enough to keep him away for at least 50 years. He had said to tell Matsumoto sorry though.

He just wanted to keep Matsumoto from approaching Hirano herself. One word, and she'd figure out his hand in it all. Matsumoto was perceptive that way. She was too good for all those boneheads.

Hitsugaya lined the ball up and took a shot. The ball barreled through the air and into the top left corner of the goal.

He sighed. He had to tell her, didn't he?

-

As much as Matsumoto lay around on the office couch, she didn't do much lying around in her own home. Today was no exception. Her many afternoon epiphanies gave her a lot of destructive energy. She would channel it into spring cleaning. She wore old training clothes and tied back her hair. It felt good to be full of purpose.

She dusted the tops of surfaces she didn't touch. She scrubbed her window blinds. She sat in her closet and pulled out things she no longer wore, trying not to get sentimental. Even so, she ended up keeping a lot.

Halfway through her shoes, a knock came at the door.

She got up, forgetting in her deep cleaning state to put down a shoe she had in her hand. It went with her to the door.

"Good evening, Matsumoto," said a slightly sweaty Hitsugaya.

"Good evening, taichou," Matsumoto answered, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. Hitsugaya was treated to a view of the sole of her old shoe.

"May I come in?"

She nodded, too tired to do much else. She inhaled the night air he brought in with him. Night air always smelled like campfires to her. This air smelled of grass and soil.

Without thinking, she walked back to her large closet. Hitsugaya followed. He watched as she sat down among her piles and piles of shirts, skirts, belts and boots.

It was registering now: Hitsugaya, the guy she liked, was in her closet, seeing her personal things. She tried not to think of this. Instead, she picked up a skirt she'd been mulling over. "Should I keep this?" She held it up for him to see. She then realized it was very short, and as a result of this he would probably say no.

"No," was not what he said. "I like green," was what he said.

She eyed her green skirt. She eyed him. "What's on your mind?"

Hitsugaya touched the back of his neck. "Matsumoto, try not to get mad."

She put the skirt down. She was wary now.

"I said things to Hirano. I told him not to date you."

Immediately, the thought came to her to be mad. He meddled in her affairs more than he should. But she wasn't. She liked that he cared so much. She knew that she acted like she didn't need anything, so most people gave her nothing. Hitsugaya acted like he didn't see her act, and gave her everything. She thought of the ramen, she thought of the times he tried her cooking experiments, she thought of him defending her honour every time it was called into question. He gave again and again. Like being a gentleman, being a giver was who Hitsugaya was.

The beginnings of stress showed on his face. He thought she was mad.

"I'm not mad," she said.

All his muscles relaxed. "You're not?"

She shook her head no. "You're surprised," she observed.

He sat. "I am."

She just sorted through her piles for a moment. He looked past her rack of ceremonial robes, lost in thought. She particularly loved the way his eyes were always present, never unfocused, never glazed.

"Taichou, could I ask you something?"

He didn't think. "Yes."

Trying very hard not to chicken out from the path she was putting them on, she asked, "Do you know that Hiwatari likes you?" Here was where she would've bit her thumbnail, but she didn't.

As soon as she saw his reaction, she knew what he'd say. "I know," was what he said. He said more things - her heart stopped - "She asked to go out on a date."

She tried very, very hard not to swallow her courage. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her thank you," he recited, "but no."

Relief seeped through her. As good as it felt, it was short-lived. She had to keep going. "Was it because you don't like her? Or was it... something else?" _Please,_ she prayed.

Hitsugaya suddenly peered at her with those attentive eyes of his. "Are you trying to turn me into a gossip?"

She exclaimed, hands up, "No! I'm really just interested." She was acting guilty, even so.

He looked at her with a shallow distrust. Though some part of him feared this would be circulating soon, he knew that Matsumoto was a caring person. He opened his mouth. "I don't like Hiwatari that way. Dating is the last thing on my mind."

At the last sentence, Matsumoto's face fell a smidgen. Her courage had met a roadblock.

But then, couldn't she still tell him? She owed it to herself to see what could happen. He liked her in his own way, and it could always change into something else. She could wait for him to be ready, couldn't she?

"Taichou?"

Maybe she hadn't meant to sound so fragile, but he'd responded in kind. His voice tender, he asked, "What is it?"

His sweetness pushed her forward. "I see now that you don't want to date. But I want you to know," - she made herself look at him - "_I like you_."

The green of his eyes intensified. He looked down, he looked back up. He said not a single thing.

She hovered, it seemed, over the safe, solid ground. She was very still.

"Rangiku," he said. He reached up. With the cold, soft pads of his fingers, he touched her temple and trailed a line down to her jaw.

She froze.

"I'll remember that," he promised.

She smiled. "Then I'll wait for you."


	26. Deviation

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: So this is written in a kind of alternate universe, one where Hitsugaya and Matsumoto did not meet before Hitsugaya entered the academy. I am still taking requests.

---

45. DEVIATION  
_It was different between them, even from the start._

---

Some men - okay, most men - look at me like I'm a dessert. Like I'm the mouse and they're the cat. It used to bug me. But now, they rankle me about as much as my hair dryer gets me sexually excited.

They don't know me, right? So it doesn't matter if they look too long. Still, I've almost come to rely on their staring as a sort of barometer - as a confirmation of the piggish nature of whoever happens to look. And believe me - no one _never_ looks at my breasts like they're not interested. I've even caught Kuchiki-taichou staring occasionally (but at least he's not gross about it). The only one who doesn't stare is Gin. And that's because he's known me since we were little.

So when I heard that my new captain was a man, well, I was wondering how that'd go over. The tenth's been captainless for a good 5 years, so I've been just puttering around with the title of Temporary Captain, trying to finish only what documentation is absolutely needed, and attending a meeting here or there.

Captain is not a rank I'm too comfortable with holding. I mean, I haven't achieved bankai yet, and I don't even have freaky strength like Zaraki to back it up. Add that to an absolute disdain for paperwork, and you've got a girl destined for vice-captaincy - a role just as cushy with a lot less sitting in a desk.

Anyway. My new captain's a man. I set a few ground rules in my head already:  
1. No touching. At all.  
2. If he begins acting unprofessionally, excuse myself quickly. (Depending on how lewd he is, do this with a varying degree of politeness.)

Of course, a relationship is out of the question. I've never dated within the ranks and never will. One's work life and personal life shouldn't mix.

"Matsumoto-taichou! How're you doing?"

"You know you can't call me that anymore, Rei, my new captain's starting today."

"Speaking of your new captain, I've gotta tell you - he is cute."

My eyebrows go up. I try to hide my worry. "Really, now?"

Rei smiles wickedly. "Now, you heartbreaker, it's not what it sounds like! He is cute, but in a whole different way than you're used to."

"What, he's actually got a brain? Cute-smart?"

"Hah! You'll see," she sings, leaving the office. Well, she seems to enjoy keeping secrets to herself.

I start chewing my thumbnail, fretting now. My new captain - cute? This isn't good. It'll make it harder to resist his piggish behaviour if he's cute. I will, of course, but it's always a bit of a letdown, knowing that someone with so much potential is a complete sod like the rest of them.

_Tap, tap_.

I pad over to the door and swing it aside with too much force - a bit of anxiety.

In the doorframe is the handsomest little boy - he stands at about my collarbone, a head full of white hair and serious, big green eyes. "Well, hello."

"Matsumoto Rangiku?" he asks. His voice is a lot deeper than I'd expected.

"Yup," I answer. "What can I do you for?"

"I'm Hitsugaya Toushirou, newly assigned captain of the tenth. Could I come in?"

My jaw just about drops, but I hopefully restrict the surprise to just my eyes. "Yes, of course."

His face shifts infinitesimally - his intuition flashes. Crud. I hope he wasn't offended. He's just... so young! I mean, _really young_. Like, young enough to look like soutaichou's grandson. Or great-grandson.

He walks in, arms swinging slightly at his sides. I notice that he's not wearing the customary captain haori. Odd. How can I be sure that this isn't just some prank? But then, his eyes... there was just something so critical about them. So sharp, so _much_ in his young face--

"Is this my desk?"

I jerk out of my thoughts, lifting my head dumbly in his direction. He's staring down the dark desk I'd pushed up against the wall years ago in an effort to clear up some space in the office. I look at the huge stacks of junk atop it, uncertain how to answer. From what I can infer of his personality, I'm sure the mess will not be to his liking. Ohh dear...

I catch myself in the middle of my worrying.

Wait. If I didn't know myself any better, I'd say that this feeling was _nervousness_. Weird.

Hitsugaya begins to peer at me, probably courting the idea of my having brain damage.

"Yes!" I exclaim in an effort to brush away this foreign feeling. "We'll clean it up right away, of course."

Hitsugaya nods. He drifts over to the single bookcase in the corner, glancing at the titles of my favourites. Then an about-face, and he's looking at the large painting I mounted a year ago. I like being able to look up from my desk and see it there.

"Well," he breathes.

My lips come together in a tighter line. What will he say?

"Thank you for sharing your space with me, Matsumoto-fukutaichou."

Wasted air gushes out of my lungs, and fresh air replaces it. I did not realize I was holding my breath. "You're welcome," I say mindlessly.

He just nods and turns. His hands find the mess balanced atop the old desk.

"I mean-!" I correct myself, startling him slightly, "I mean, this is your office now, Hitsugaya-taichou."

He raises an eyebrow. "Did you think I'd throw you out?"

This pulls me up short - "I just thought that procedure would be followed," I half-mumble.

"Would you be adverse to sharing an office?" he asks. His phrasing and vocabulary are so incredibly polite - I feel crude in comparison.

"No," I squeak.

"Good," he says, then turns around again.

---

Okay. So Hitsugaya-taichou threw me off the first day. That does not mean anything. I'm just used to claiming the upper hand with guys, since they all have a little bit of lecher in them. Hitsugaya-taichou clearly does not. I don't need the upper hand, anyway. I don't need to do anything, other than be myself.

I tell myself this resolutely as I stride into the office. The door's already open.

"Careful," comes Hitsugaya's voice from somewhere in the room.

I nearly jump. Where _is he?_

"The floor's soapy," he explains, still invisible. Why is he doing that? I thought he'd be a whole lot more polite than to speak to someone without facing them.

Suddenly my eye lands on a stiff-bristled brush comb. It's moving circularly, directed by a pale hand, which is half-hidden behind my red couch. It moves slowly, altogether in one direction. It's like I'm observing a caterpillar. "Hitsugaya-taichou?"

"Yes, Matsumoto-fukutaichou?" comes his voice again. He does not appear.

But then, something is coming together in my head. His voice is a little muffled. But not _that_ much. Could he...? Is he really...?

His mess of white hair suddenly peeks over the back of my couch, and too, appear his eyes. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou?"

He is washing the floor.

My, God. I've never seen any ranking officer do labour, _ever_. This is weird. I knew it. He's not really the new captain. He's really the new janitor, and he's psychotic. He wants me to call him the new captain--

"Are you alright?" he asks, standing now. He's wearing a haori. It has the number ten on it. Well.

"Um, yes," I say. "I-- you-- you need some help?"

"I wouldn't mind it," he answers me. "Watch your step."

I take off my socks and sandals and tie back my hair. There are about a half dozen abandoned brushes identical to the one Hitsugaya has just lying around. Weird. I take one of them and scrub my way over to him.

It's silent for awhile. I'm guessing that Hitsugaya is the kind of guy who really enjoys silence. It's too bad, since my stupid mouth can't seem to help itself. "Why are there brushes lying around?"

Hitsugaya looks up from the floor. It shines perfectly. "Some of the cleaning staff were in here earlier." He doesn't elaborate.

I force him to do so. "Where did they go?" They couldn't have all gone to the washroom at the same time.

"I made them leave," he says casually. He offers nothing more. I'm beginning to see how the rest of our future as captain and vice-captain might play out.

For some unknown reason, my singular goal in life is to now figure out why my new captain made the cleaning staff leave. "_Why?_" I blurt before I can stop myself, and am afraid it's come out a bit rudely.

He doesn't respond like I've said anything offensive though. He answers slightly more seriously, "I like to do things myself." There's something in his eyes that tells me he's always been this way. Again, I notice that he's very sincere in what he does.

Belatedly, I realize that my brush has been following the same path for quite a while now. I jerk it over to a new part of the floor. Hitsugaya doesn't say anything else, just keeps on scrubbing. The only noise in the office for a long time is just the scritch-scratch of bristles on wood. After a few more minutes, I stand to survey the work we've done, and I must say, it's pretty impressive. I didn't even know that the wood was originally that nice warm colour.

Hitsugaya stands, too, his haori billowing about his small frame. He keeps the brush in his hand like he might need to improve upon our work, but then he gives a small smile and puts it down. "Time to mop up the soap," he says.

So we do. We lift the couch and the desks, trying to balance all the crap atop them, and we succeed. It's nice to be able to spend time with him like this, bonding just through our task of transforming this office.

Just as he's finishing off a corner though, a thought shoots into my brain - "Why didn't you kick _me_ out, taichou?"

For him, the answer seems to be simple. "Because you really _wanted_ to help."

I just about protest this. I didn't really feel a strong urge to clean the floor.

"Or maybe you just really wanted to figure out the mystery of me," he says good-naturedly. "In any case, you scrub a mean floor."

The _mystery of him_? What?

I look at him. He looks back at me like I should understand what he's said. That look. It's just so very different from those other looks I get. Those guys are all the same. I expect them to all be the same, and they prove that I'm right every time.

_Except._ Except for Hitsugaya.

Now he's changed that look to adjust around a little amused smile. What a sight. Serious-boy-captain smiles. The mystery cracks a little with that smile.

He speaks. "Now that the floor's clean, we should redecorate." The words are everyday, but we know something's happened. It's all I can do not to smile full-blast.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I agree.

"Starting with that couch."

"What? No. I will not give up that couch."

"It's really old."

"It still works."

"When I sit on it, I feel the springs."

"You must have a bony butt."

"Let's replace the springs, at least. And maybe get new cushions."

"Hmmm. Maybe."

"Okay."

"Okay."


	27. Don't Forget That You Love Me

_Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite._

Author natterings: Longest piece I've written ever, and a continuation of _A Fine Mess_, number 44 of this collection, found at chapter 25. It is also highly likely that this will be the last piece I contribute to _Ten_. If I ever feel like writing disconnected pieces for Hitsugaya and Matsumoto again, I'll probably just compile them in another collection.  
All of that said, **thank you for reading and reviewing!** It means a lot to me.

* * *

46. DON'T FORGET THAT YOU LOVE ME  
"Mochi?"

"Please." And he bit into the little delight.

Matsumoto watched Hitsugaya eat her homemade mochi with a singular pleasure. It felt like nothing could go wrong today.

She had woken up that morning with a smile on her face after a restful, dreamless sleep. She woke with the sun. It shone unabashedly in the clear sky, white-hot and cheery. The temperature of the air was exactly perfect - like an extension of herself. Her neighbour was cooking something delicious-smelling. She cracked her window open and breathed it in deeply. Yes, today was going to be wonderful.

She combed her hair, then ate breakfast in her pajamas. She brushed her teeth, then dressed. Sitting in the fridge, waiting on her, were the mochi she'd made last night for today's lunch. She'd taken great strides in her cooking, and now packed into the mochi every conceiveable filling.

She skipped to the office. She smiled at everyone she passed. Oh, the start of a new day! So much lay in wait for her.

She watched him take the last bite of her mochi and beamed when he said, "Delicious, Matsumoto!"

Only once he'd finished did she allow herself to choose one. "What's going on after lunch, Hitsugaya-taichou?"

In a way that only he could, Hitsugaya quirked his mouth into a little smirk. His smile had a secretive quality to it. Her heart jumped and her brain skittered, trying to read into that little crook between his cheek and his lips.

"I have to go out into the field to test the new division recruits. You," - here, his left eyebrow rose - "have a visitor. I've given you the afternoon off. Not that you'd be doing much otherwise."

"I don't know what you're talking about, taichou," she said with a frowning smile, "I do plenty."

It was partially true. In the months since that fateful night that she had declared herself to him, she began to report for duty for more than just the training sessions. Though nowhere near the efficiency of say, Hitsugaya himself, Matsumoto came into the office more than usual, leaving her captain with a lighter load of work.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me who it is who's visiting."

Hitsugaya's smirk returned. "No, I won't."

She nodded, expecting as much. She speared a mochi. The thought of feeding it to him flitted across her mind, but she shut it out quickly and popped the mochi into her mouth, whole. She would take no risks.

Hitsugaya picked up one that she could tell was filled with red bean. Their shared favourite. Once she had made a batch of only red bean mochi, and he'd asked why. She'd answered that it was obvious, that it was their favourite. He'd replied, "That's true, but without the other flavours, there's nothing to look forward to." She did admit that the sweetness of a red bean mochi was particularly delicious after eating a white bean one.

This was why she loved him. He saw things that she didn't. Waiting for him was the only choice she could make without disowning some part of herself. And if waiting for him meant not pressuring him into anything, she would control those stray thoughts. They would stay contained underneath the ceiling of her skull, and her eyes would, just sometimes, stray to the stars.

* * *

At the end of the regular work day, Matsumoto loitered by the door of the division office. She and Hitsugaya had begun walking back to their quarters together at Hitsugaya's suggestion. This evening however, he would leave that suggestion. "I haven't properly greeted our guest yet," he said. Matsumoto nodded, and closed the door softly behind her.

He sat on a chair across from Matsumoto's couch, thinking on what he would say to her.

He did not wait very long. The girl from the material world knocked and entered, beaming brightly. "Hello, Toushirou!"

He rose from his seat and smiled without thinking. "Welcome back, Orihime."

Orihime only continued smiling and took a seat on the couch. Her hair was as orange as ever, even longer now, held in place by her magical flower clips. As she sat, she stirred the air with her unique Orihime smell. She was still her, even in the borrowed robe and the socks and sandals that weren't hers. He hoped that there were other sticking points about Orihime, too.

"It's good to see you," she said earnestly - she had always been earnest and he remembered liking this about her. "How have you been?"

Though a casual question, Hitsugaya did not feel like being casual with his answer. "She's driving me crazy. I don't know what to do."

Orihime paused, thinking. Hitsugaya desperately hoped for an answer to his plea. He remembered that even though Orihime was often silly, often missed what others understood, she did this because she saw in her own way. He hoped that what she saw could cut through to the centre of his problem. He needed a totally different point of view, and if anyone could offer it to him, it was Orihime.

Orihime also shared certain qualities with his lieutenant (a love for horrible food, an endless supply of joy), and he supposed this sort of kinship couldn't hurt either.

Orihime made certain. "You mean Matsumoto?"

"Yes."

"You mean that she said that she'd wait for you and when you were ready to date that she'd want to date you?"

He'd filled her in earlier, before she came. "Yes."

Orihime was completely absorbed by him and his problem - she was genuinely trying to see into their relationship. She leaned forward on her elbows. She fixed him with her brown eyes. "And you mean that she's changing and it's driving you crazy?"

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. Orihime _did_ see. She'd seen in a few hours. "Yes."

"Okay." She thought some more. She was unabashed - she scratched her head, she looked skyward - she didn't make her thinking a secret. "Well, what bothers you so much about her change?"

He blinked. He was getting more than he'd bargained for, and much quicker than he'd thought he would. He stared at his would-be therapist's sandal, trying to compose a thought. What did Matsumoto do? Finally, he said, "Well, she doesn't seem to do much besides come to work, make me mochi, and go drinking sometimes." He grimaced. God, this was hard. It hurt him to see like this, to open every thought to her and know she was narrowing her existence down into nothing. Why was she choosing to live this way? When he thought of possible answers, it hurt more.

Orihime nodded, her hands folding into each other. "Keep going."

His eyes were all scrunched and his jaw was clenched. When he opened his mouth to speak, he felt that great pressure alleviate. He hadn't known how hard he was biting down. When he looked up, Orihime was looking back. He locked onto her warm brown eyes and the words just came. He told her.

* * *

At home, Matsumoto stirred her red bean paste around the mixing bowl, taking the occasional taste. A little more sugar, maybe.

She wondered what Hitsugaya and Orihime could be talking about. It wasn't that she didn't trust the both of them, she just wanted to know what was happening in his life. She hadn't missed the fact that Orihime and Hitsugaya had bonded in those rare quiet moments before and after battles. They both stared out at the horizon, achieving synchronism with each other. Orihime as Hitsugaya's confidante was the last thing anyone had expected, but it had happened.

And it wasn't like she didn't have her own unique connection with her captain. She had an amazing bond with him. The understanding between them was instant. Their connection was strong. It was possible that what she wanted could blossom from such a relationship.

Besides, she couldn't expect him to find this kind of bond with only her. It was silly - he deserved the care and love of others. He had his own life. Each bond he shared with someone was as varied as the colours of the rainbow: the bonds that were easily broken, with those who meant little or nothing; the bonds that had endless potential, with those he did not know; and of course the bonds that could only grow stronger with time.

Even so, it was a bit unsettling, the look in Hitsugaya's eyes as he told her he was staying behind to speak to Orihime. He was not as cool as he usually was. He was agitated. Worried. Her instinct was to visit him at his quarters. She could see herself sidling next to him on the couch and giving him a giant hug. She saw herself pestering him for answers to all her questions.

Then she snapped out of it. That was no way to conduct herself. Who knew what could happen if she wrapped her arms around him? He could stiffen, whisper that she was making him uncomfortable. She could lose control, going from friendly hugging to caressing...

An uncomfortable fit of energy bunched up in her legs. She jumped up from her position at the counter and grabbed the mixing spoon. She cradled the bowl and paced around the kitchen, willing herself to stop thinking.

* * *

"She doesn't tell me to loosen up anymore. She doesn't try to drag me along drinking or spike my tea." Hitsugaya said to Orihime, his fingers at his temples. The hard part over (as in, the beginning over), Hitsugaya was now leaning back into his chair, picking his memory for the things Matsumoto used to do.

For her part, Orihime sat posture-perfect on the couch and glanced briefly skyward, her thinking face on. "Could it be that she doesn't want to pressure you?"

"Pressure me how?" he asked curiously.

"Could it be..." (- Orihime started her sentences this way, always as a suggestion, and Hitsugaya felt that she was an intuitive counselor -) "... could it be that, as a woman interested in you, she doesn't want to come across as overbearing?"

His fingers stopped massaging his temples. The words scrambled around in his brain.

Orihime went on, a thoughtful finger to her bottom lip. "I mean, if I were interested in someone, I would watch what I say or do around them more than I would someone I'm comfortable with."

_That_ set off his mental alarms. "Matsumoto is uncomfortable around me?"

Orihime nodded. "Now. Matsumoto is uncomfortable around you _now_."

Uncomfortable. To Hitsugaya, uncomfortable had always meant clamming up, suffering in another's company and making a beeline out the door to be alone. But Hitsugaya's uncomfortable and Matsumoto's uncomfortable were vastly different. He thought some more. When was the last time she wheedled him into a spa day? Where had all the fashion magazines she used to read in the office gone?

Orihime was right.

"It may be that she's trying to prove herself to you," Orihime said. Everything she said this evening had the ring of an infallible truth.

He spoke slowly. "It's this waiting. Waiting for me. It's changing her." He looked at Orihime, his green eyes vital in his face. "What do I do?"

Orihime blinked slowly. "You could suggest a kareoke night," she ventured.

Hitsugaya's expression shifted. He had been so serious, his brows drawn low over his eyes and his mouth set and jaw clenched. At Orihime's casual suggestion of a kareoke night, his jaw slackened, his lips upturned and his brows drew together in a helpless way. And he laughed. "Orihime," he said, looking sincerely at her, "Why didn't I think of that?"

* * *

"What?" Matsumoto asked, her blue eyes blinking wide.

Hitsugaya coughed uncomfortably into his fist. "It was Orihime's suggestion," he half-lied. He'd brought up the question as non-threateningly as he could, from his usual seat at his desk where he was perusing a scroll. Matsumoto was sitting on the couch facing him, about to start on lunch. "What do you think?" he asked, trying to keep down the nervousness in the pit of his stomach.

Matsumoto bit her lower lip. Little did Hitsugaya know, nervousness was clenching at Matsumoto's stomach as well. Her eyes anchored in his. "Tonight, you said?"

He nodded.

She clamped her lips tightly together, thinking of Hitsugaya belting out Ayumi Hamasaki or trying to rap Orange Range. She wanted to tease him badly. She thought about herself singing, and how she knew she was good. She wanted to impress him, but was also afraid of the exhibition. Instead, she asked, "Will you be there?" To distract herself she picked up her chopsticks and dug into her rice.

Hesitantly, Hitsugaya replied in the affirmative.

"Then I guess I'll go," she told her rice, fearing the party and what it might hold.

* * *

Orihime's powers astounded him. "Your powers amaze me," he told her.

She looked up from the bowl of punch she was slicing lemon into. "Oh, Toushirou, don't you know? I mentioned that it was for you, and Shunsui and Juushirou cleared everything out."

Hitsugaya knew he should be worried about this (those meddling older captains paired together were definitely a sign of trouble), but he couldn't bring himself to rouse the proper amount of suspicion. His eyes unerringly found the door, which shinigami would begin filing through in due time. Orihime was well-liked, and Hitsugaya got the feeling that a lot of his fellow shinigami were stressed from the recent graduation of recruits from the academy. Attendance would be high.

As if on cue, Renji, Shuuei and Kira arrived. Orihime paused in her preparations to wave hello.

The three lieutenants greeted Orihime warmly, mussing her hair, saluting and grinning apologetically, respectively. "Hey, Hitsugaya-taichou!" called Renji loudly, though no one else had arrived yet and there was no noise to shout over. "Where's Rangiku?"

Hitsugaya bristled at his addressing Matsumoto so informally. "She's not here, yet," he replied.

All three men looked visibly disappointed. "Shame. Rangiku has the voice of an angel," Renji sang said lieutenant's praises. "Doesn't she?" he asked his companions. They nodded.

Since when had Matsumoto sang with bonehead Renji? Before he knew it, his mouth had bent into a frown.

"Punch, Toushirou?"

Hitsugaya had almost said he would've loved to punch Renji, before he realized what Orihime meant. "Yes, thank you," he said distractedly. He looked to the door again. Orihime began talking to Renji. Kira went off to turn on the sound system, and Shuuei found the sushi platter.

Twenty minutes later, Hitsugaya was still standing by the refreshment table. His eyes darted from the door to the kareoke machine and back. He was right about attendance - several people had come in already, seeking food and some fun. He'd made the requisite small talk with everyone and fielded multiple inquiries on Matsumoto's whereabouts. Now, a group of four shinigami from the thirteenth divison were singing an English song by a formerly popular boy band. The machine, a little odd, doled out grades for performances, 100 being the highest. He was fairly certain no one had scored over a 60. Or at least, that's what his ears told him.

"She's late," he muttered to Orihime, when she got up from her position on the couches to get more food.

Orihime stepped a little closer to speak confidentially, balancing her tray of veggies. "How did she seem when you asked?"

Hitsugaya remembered back to that afternoon. "She asked if I was going. I said yes, and she said she guessed she would go too."

Orihime looked over his shoulder, casting a thoughtful glance at the wall. "Anything else?"

"She didn't look me in the eyes half the time," he reported in a rushed manner. It wasn't all that strange that she didn't look him in the eyes, actually. How had he let it go this far? "She was slow to answer." A thought flitted into his head and stuck there. What if she didn't show at all?

He was shocked back to the kareoke room when Orihime grabbed his wrist. "She'll come," Orihime said simply, reading his mind. "Sing with us!"

He couldn't very well deny her. This was her idea initially. He let himself be shuffled over to the couches, squeezed between her and Renji. Renji was singing, oddly enough, a ballad. He wasn't horrifyingly bad. Orihime crunched celery next to him. When the song was over and Renji wheedled an 85 out of the machine, he stood up and exchanged high-fives with everyone in the vicinity. All it took was a look to ward Renji off of high-fiving him though.

* * *

Matsumoto did her best to waltz into the room as nonchalantly as possible. It was weird, this nervousness settling at the bottom of her stomach. It clogged up her intestines and weighed her down.

Her eyes gravitated immediately to the shock of white hair over at the kareoke machine. He was sitting and listening it seemed. She was taken aback at the expression on his face. There was a hint of a smile.

Orihime was singing an English song with no discernable accent. When had she learned that, Matsumoto wondered to herself. Though Matsumoto only caught a few words, the feeling made it clear that the song was a love song. Orihime's voice was delicate, her lips forming the words easily. When the song was over and a 92 flashed on the screen, cheers erupted. Orihime grabbed Hitsugaya in a tight hug which he reciprocated by patting her back.

Matsumoto watched this scene uncomfortably. She felt like an intruder, even though there were well over 10 others in the room. Somehow, everything had narrowed down to Orihime, Hitsugaya and Matsumoto, and Matsumoto was the outsider. She crumpled in place. Had she done something wrong?

"Matsumoto, you're late!" Hitsugaya reprimanded from his spot on the couches. He stood. Once upon a time, she would've snickered that his standing didn't change his height all that much. As it was, she just felt her lips twitch.

"Rangiku, sing! Before Kira decides to!" Shuuei called, bizzarely stretched over Rukia's lap. She pushed him off quickly, veins pulsing at her temples. Kira made a noise of indignance.

"I think I'll have something to eat first," she told him, pointing at the buffet as indication. In the corner of her eye she spotted Hitsugaya getting up and walking over. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

She turned to the buffet, her hair falling around her like a curtain.

Hitsugaya went straight to her. "Why are you late?"

She shrugged, picking up a few bundles of sushi.

"Don't say you were doing work," he said, managing to work some warmth into his tone.

She looked up at him. "I wasn't," she told him, flashing a small smile.

"Hitsugaya-taichou! Get back over here! You haven't sang a single song yet!" trilled Yumichika.

Matsumoto suppressed her eyebrow raise. "Taichou? You haven't sang yet?"

Her captain seemed to shrink. "No." He whirled, heading back to the couches. Matsumoto unconsciously followed him, wedging herself between him and Renji. Kira was singing now, and he really wasn't all that bad, despite what Shuuei seemed to think. She ate a hunk of sushi for each verse, and before she knew it she'd cleared her plate. She'd figured out by now that the numbers that blinked on the screen were scores for the performance. Kira scored an even 50, and everyone heckled him.

Renji pushed a mic on her, insisting that she sing and that after such a terrible performance they all deserved to hear something decent. Orihime pushed a mic on Hitsugaya, insisting that he have some fun with the most innocent of voices.

They had no input on the song choice, apparently, because the name of an old school duet ballad popped up on the screen, to the delight of nearly everyone in the room. Rukia and Orihime giggled, Renji hooted, Shuuei smirked and Kira raised his eyebrows. Yumichika and Ikkaku swapped wicked grins. Shunsui, who was lounging in corner on a beanbag chair, pulled the brim of his hat over his mouth. Other seated shinigami cheered, eager for the song to start and for the two who hadn't sang yet to display their abilities. For her part, Matsumoto was trying not to be sick to her stomach.

* * *

_Gulp._ Hitsugaya felt like a new trainee. Well, he felt how he imagined others felt when they were trainees. He stared at the title on the screen. It was so old and so popular that there was no way he could feign ignorance. He really wasn't intending on singing. He'd decided to have this just so he could see Matsumoto restored to her former glory, and what else was more _Matsumoto_ than kareoke?

He dared a glance at her. Her brow was creased the slightest bit.

He felt a tug on his shirt. It was Orihime. "You're starting," she whispered, pointing at the screen.

And indeed he was. He watched the little counter tick down to the beginning of his public humiliation. He opened his mouth, and the words came out quietly, the tune barely in them. His eyes stayed firmly on the screen.

That is, until Matsumoto joined him. He broke his gaze to look at her. Her voice...

Her voice was honestly and truly the most beautiful he'd ever heard. Even more than professionals. There was no bravado. Her voice was just... her.

As the song continued and they had to sing together, he gained volume and musicality. He drew from her. He forgot to feel self-conscious. He ignored the ridiculous videos playing behind the lyrics. He hadn't even realized he was still looking at her until after the song had ended.

An eruption of congratulations came. He flicked his gaze over to the screen, barely catching the 100 before he turned back to Matsumoto.

She smiled back at him.

He relaxed then. Maybe this was working.

* * *

She had to hurl.

Okay, maybe not. But God, did she feel sick. The score of 100 had little effect on her nerves. Singing a love song she could handle. Singing a love song with her taichou, whom she was currently in love with, and whom did not reciprocate, made her want to collapse.

Hitsugaya turned to her. She gave him a smile that she was sure put her nerves on display.

But when he smiled back at her, she took a sharp breath in and the nervous feelings were very suddenly put on hold.

What her body urged her to do was kiss him. _Do it!_ The part of her that she had shut away called. He was so handsome, even with just the light from the projection screen illuminating his face. She wanted to just jump him and bury her hands in his hair. She wanted to tell him to hurry the hell up and love her back.

But when she exhaled, she quickly shoved all those feelings into a very small suitcase and flipped the latch shut. If she were standing, she imagined she would be bouncing from foot to foot. "Let's sing another!" she called mindlessly and joyously, to much approval.

* * *

Hitsugaya blinked, as if that would dissipate the tension he'd just felt between himself and Matsumoto. Nope. Not dissipated at all.

He looked up at her high-fiving Shunsui across the room. Her round behind was unknowingly very close to his face, so he looked back down at his lap. There was no way he'd imagined that look in her eyes, so why was he the one reeling and she the one belting out Shania Twain?

"Toushirou, are you going to sing?" Orihime asked politely.

"No, I'm going to get some air," he replied, handing her the mic and making steps toward the sliding door that led to a little balcony.

Inside, Matsumoto and Orihime sang together, their voices blending and meeting his ears through the thin curtains.

* * *

Stretching languidly on her bed, Matsumoto smiled to herself at the start of a new day. It was gloriously sunny and warm. She could feel the touch of the sun through her sheets. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that the sky was bright, blue, and cloud-free.

Yesterday had been fun. She would've kept singing if she weren't afraid she would go hoarse. Even then, she'd sung a lot compared to some. Renji invited her out tonight for more of the same, and she'd gladly accepted.

She curled up on her side. She'd sleep a few minutes more.

* * *

Hitsugaya glared at the form he was filling out. Why did Soutaichou require quarterly reviews on the cafeteria food? He had enough paperwork as it was. He paused in his work to look up at the door.

This was the latest Matsumoto had ever been since she'd confessed to him all those months ago. He knew that this should be a relief - that maybe yesterday night had restored her to normal a bit. But he couldn't help but feel a little peeved at her absence.

Since she'd told him her feelings, he'd been a bit more considerate toward her. It was he who'd suggested they walk from the office back toward their respective homes. He always saw her home before walking back to his own place. He made it a point to conduct all his meetings with Hiwatari right in front Matsumoto, so she could feel at ease, knowing nothing was going on between them. Knowing that a girl liked you usually changed your attitude toward her, but he hadn't really changed all that much toward Matsumoto. The truth was, what he did normally he did because he liked her. She was hard not to like. Why else did he carry steaming bowls of oily ramen back to the office? Who else would he tolerate feeding him mochi? Matsumoto was simply the way she was, and he'd grown into her. That was partially why he wanted her old self back.

Worrying about her was new, though. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, yet he couldn't bat away his concern. Distantly, it occured to him that he was mad at himself. His brain kept telling him that she could take care of herself, but his eyes and ears stayed on alert.

"What's wrong, Toushirou?" questioned Orihime from her position on the couch. She was reading a book of fables that she'd brought with her from the material world. She sat where Matsumoto had sat just yesterday, her legs curled up underneath her.

Hitsugaya tried to read the forms in front of him. "Matsumoto's late," he said.

"I know," Orihime replied, turning a page. "Aren't you glad?"

Feeling uneasy at the prospect of saying either yes or no, he chose not to reply.

He couldn't have anyway, since Matsumoto slid open the office door mere seconds later. "Good morning!" she called.

"Morning," Orihime called back, waving absently as she flipped another page of her book.

Hitsugaya grunted, tugging up his sleeve aggressively and committing himself to the cafeteria food report.

Despite the lackluster response, Matsumoto stepped happily into the room, deposited her lunch on her desk and went up to Orihime. "What're you reading?"

Hitsugaya watched them furtively from the corner of his eye.

"Aesop's fables," Orihime replied, then went on to explain a story about a tortoise and a hare. Matsumoto listened raptly, blinking her blue eyes once in awhile. Once Orihime had finished, Matsumoto stood and stretched.

"Are you coming out tonight?" she asked.

Orihime smiled yes.

"Taichou?" Matsumoto asked.

Hitsugaya looked up from his paperwork like he hadn't just been listening. "Yes?"

"Are you coming out to Renji's kareoke night?" Matsumoto repeated, ever upbeat.

Hitsugaya furrowed his brow. "I was never told of this."

"You did leave early, Toushirou," Orihime interjected. "He invited everyone at the end of the night last night."

He crossed his arms, then he realized what he was doing and uncrossed them. "If I'm not welcome, I see little point in my attending."

"I'm sure you're welcome, taichou!" Matsumoto insisted.

"Just come along," Orihime suggested.

He frowned minutely and just said, "I'll think about it," an unusually demure response for himself. He tried to write down his opinion of the menu on thursdays, but he couldn't think straight.

* * *

Matsumoto stepped into a blue skirt and zipped it up with practised ease. It settled around her hips nicely and showed off her legs, she knew. But tonight she was dressing up more because she felt celebratory. It wasn't to excess - she left her hair as it was and just slipped on sandals. She dressed to suit her mood. Orihime, who had come over to walk to the kareoke place together, sat just outside the washroom door talking.

"- wouldn't have guessed that Toushirou would have such a nice singing voice. He really should show it off more often, don't you think?" A giggle.

Matsumoto adjusted the studs in her ears and opened the bathroom door. "You're right. I hope he decides to come."

Orihime clapped her hands together. "Why don't we go over to his quarters and persuade him some more?" she said brightly, obviously never having been a recipient of his cold glare.

Matsumoto was definitely a repeat recipient though. She laughed a tad nervously. "It's alright. I'd hate to force him into an uncomfortable situation." She scooped up her purse and headed for the door.

Surprisingly enough, Orihime wasn't dissuaded. She stayed on the couch and crossed her arms. "But I really _want_ him there, Matsumoto. Don't you?"

Matsumoto watched in surprise from the doorway. "Well, yes... but-"

"Great! We'll just stop in quickly," Orihime said with a smile, then skipped out the door past Matsumoto.

Matsumoto let herself be led, nervousness simmering in her gut again. She hadn't imposed herself on Hitsugaya for quite awhile. Would he be mad? What if they interrupted his nap and he came to the door rubbing his eyes? Her breath hitched at the thought. His eyes, hazed with sleep, seemed too private. She would've blushed, had she not been jarred from her musings.

Orihime knocked, but stepped swiftly out of the way so that Matsumoto had a clear view of Hitsugaya once he answered the door. He did not appear to have woken up from a nap, but she was surprised to see him dressed casually in one of his outfits from the material world. Her eyes were drawn by how his black polo contrasted nicely with his white hair. She also found it oddly fashionable how he'd chosen to wear a watch with the rest of the outfit. He looked good, and in a way she wasn't used to.

"Oh, Toushirou, you weren't waiting for us, were you?" Orihime smiled at him happily.

"No," he answered. But then he stepped out and closed the door behind him so suddenly that Matsumoto got an odd feeling.

"Let's go."

* * *

Hitsugaya hadn't even known this place existed until today, and quite honestly, he could've gone his whole life without knowing and been happy. But as it was, he now knew it existed and also knew exactly why he would not want to know it existed.

He hiccuped, and took another sip from the cup in his hand. Shuuei had told him it was non-alcoholic, but maybe it wasn't? He was scrunching his eyes a lot more than normal and his head was tilting on its own.

Oh, but back to his reason for not wanting to know that this place existed. Alcohol. Alcohol and singing... it was just a terrible combination. It made some sense, since public singing took some courage and alcohol seemed to do away with a person's usual inhibitions. But really. Alcohol also made it impossible to read lyrics properly, and made everyone ten times more rowdy. Ikkaku had purposely searched for the scoring system and activated it so that everyone could be assigned grades again. Hitsugaya was just thankful they'd let him sip on his "non-alcoholic" drink in silence so far.

Matsumoto, on the other hand, was positively radiant. She'd consumed twice as much as anyone else in the room and still sounded amazing. As he watched, she gripped the mic tightly and hit a high note. Orihime, who no one would pressure into drinking, was sipping on a smoothie across from him and bobbing her head. When she caught him looking, she smiled broadly, the straw between her teeth.

Rukia had spent the whole night fiddling with the remote, figuring out how to queue up songs and create long lists of them. She hit a button right after Matsumoto scored a 90 and paused the queue. "Duet next! Who will it be?" she said, enunciating each syllable perfectly. Byakuya had expressly forbade her from any sort of alcohol for the next 25 years, and made sure everyone knew about it. As such, Rukia was the other sober occupant of the room.

"I wanna," Shuuei stated, grabbing at the microphone by Yumichika's thigh. He missed, and ended up stabbing Yumichika in the crotch, causing a minor ruckus. Hitsugaya sighed, glad he was sitting between Matsumoto and the wall.

"I vote Hitsugaya," Rukia said.

"Seconded," Renji said, taking a swig from a bottle.

"Thirded," Kira said, avoiding Hitsugaya's gaze.

"Hitsugaya-_taichou_," Hitsugaya asserted. "And I'm not singing."

"Fourthed," Ikkaku said, while pulling a livid Yumichika off of Shuuei. "And Hitsugaya-taichou, if you're not singing, why did you come in the first place?"

Hitsugaya frowned, and prepared to take another sip of his drink. Why did he come? "I came for Orihime and Matsumoto," he said without thinking, and without noticing the exchange of _Looks_ between the other shinigami.

"So sing with Matsumoto!" Yumichika exclaimed.

Hitsugaya just slid his gaze over to Matsumoto. Matsumoto held her mic loosely now, and at his look she turned and smiled lopsidedly. Her cheeks were tinged with the slightest bit of pink. indicating that she was a little inebriated, at least. "Why not, taichou?"

He honestly didn't know if he wanted to do this, and only partially sober at that. Alcohol seemed to strengthen his inhibition rather than do away with it.

Shuuei successfully grabbed the other microphone without stabbing Yumichika in the thigh this time. "I'm singing now!" he proclaimed.

"I'll sing," Hitsugaya said decisively, putting his cup down on the table next to Matsumoto's bottle. As he did this, Matsumoto fixed his shoulderblades with a curious look, and Yumichika wrestled the microphone from Shuuei's grip.

"Here, Hitsugaya-taichou," Yumichika offered, handing Hitsugaya the mic with one hand while pushing Shuuei's face back with his other hand. Hitsugaya took the mic wordlessly.

Matsumoto continued her staring.

Without looking at her, Hitsugaya said, "Yes, Matsumoto?"

She jumped, not aware enough to have noticed him noticing her. "Oh, it's nothing, taichou!"

Rukia must have hit the play button because the song was starting. It was a recent hit, not hard to sing, and about falling in love with your best friend. Something about the song nagged at Hitsugaya, but he couldn't pinpoint it in his daze. There was definitely some alcohol in that drink.

The song started with green text, which indicated that both people should sing. Hitsugaya and Matsumoto sang. The text didn't change colour, even halfway through. That was when Hitsugaya realized that the song wasn't a duet.

Rather than stop singing, he continued. The song was nice enough. You didn't have to be particularly skilled to sing this song. Matsumoto was taking it easy, leaning back against the couch and propping her legs on the table. His gaze flickered to her exposed legs. She'd worn a skirt tonight, which he didn't often see. An odd feeling overtook him, and he directed his gaze back upward, but the song was just ending.

They scored 100. Ikkaku imitated a crowd cheering. Orihime called a congratulations. Renji wanted the microphone. Hitsugaya just about relinquished his, until Rukia piped up, "The next one's a duet, too."

Hitsugaya drew back immediately. He sat against the couch with the microphone on his lap. His gaze drifted once again to Matsumoto's legs, and he swung his gaze up, disconcerted. He didn't know what he was doing with himself. He needed water or something. Something not alcoholic.

Renji started to make a fuss, but the next song was already starting and Rukia pulled him down, causing him to land, hard, on his behind. He shut up after that and reached for his beer.

The next song was a true duet. Matsumoto led. She sang about the universe and how large it was and how she needed to find someone in it. Hitsugaya stared at the floor, listening hard, and missed his cue.

* * *

Matsumoto decided that she loved it when Orihime came visiting.

Already over the course of a week, they'd been to kareoke twice, eaten out three times, been to the beach, and now they were cooking together!

Matsumoto stirred a peanut paste and a red bean paste simultaneously - fillings for her mochi - while her oatmeal cookies baked in the oven. Orihime was making a multitude of toppings for her shaved ice, some of which were raspberry-chocolate, orange-raisin, peanut butter-breadcrumb and blueberry-mint. She didn't know where it came from, but Orihime was crushing mint using a mortar and pestle. She loved the effort Orihime put into her cooking.

She sampled her red bean paste, catching a generous dollop with her finger and popping it into her mouth. As she was tasting it, she realized just what she was doing, and darted her gaze over to the window.

Hitsugaya was, indeed, still sitting on the windowsill and - to Matsumoto's partial unease - watching her. His eyes seemed to be extra bright turquoise in their evaluation.

Her eyes were wide as she swiftly took her finger out of her mouth and, in a very unsexy fashion, wiped her hand on her apron. He held his gaze for another moment, blinked, and turned his head away to look out the window. She was breathing hard, suddenly.

"Aren't you excited to taste our cooking, Toushirou?" Orihime enthused, oblivious to what had just passed between Matsumoto and Hitsugaya.

"Mm," Hitsugaya barely agreed. He stared out the window at what Matsumoto knew was a not-very-nice view of the ninth division barracks. This was her place, after all.

Matsumoto felt too fragile to be doing so, but she wanted to stomp out the awkwardness of what may or may not have just happened. She said as boisterously as she could, "If taichou doesn't eat it, we'll just eat his share, won't we, Orihime?"

Orihime laughed girlishly and loudly concurred. Hitsugaya looked up, his brow no longer furrowed and his eyes reflecting mild shock.

She didn't know what to make of his reaction. He was throwing her off so much lately. She just smiled tightly at him and nodded succinctly once, then turned to the counter to fill her mochi.

* * *

Had she really just said that?

Hitsugaya's stunned gaze rested on the back of her blonde head, which sported a jaunty ponytail today. He couldn't remember the last time she had put her hair into a ponytail. He knew she thought she looked best with her hair down. So why was she wearing it up?

All he could seem to do lately when it came to Matsumoto was question. Why was she wearing her hair up when she thought it looked better down? Why was she coming in to work an hour late in the mornings? Had she really been cured so much?

He should've been happy, or at least satisfied, that his and Orihime's plan had worked so flawlessly. All it took was a little bump in the right direction, and Matsumoto was nearly herself again.

Except. Except she wasn't, was she? She might go out more in the evenings and tumble into the office late. He even spotted one of her fashion magazines yesterday, the little perfume sample open and stinking up her side of the office. But when they'd gone to the beach and he refused to lie on the sand for more than an hour, she hadn't used her puppy-dog eyes on him. She hadn't given him a bone-crushing hug, not for months now. She was restored, her own internal sunshine shining again, just not on him.

He looked at her for another moment. Her front was covered by a spotless apron and tied with a little bow in the back. Her feet were bare against the kitchen tile - was she wearing an anklet? Her ponytail fell over her shoulder.

He turned back to the window, his chin in his hand. Could it be?

* * *

"Bye, Toushirou!" Orihime called over the threshold of Matsumoto's home. She called as if Hitsugaya were 20 metres away and not 2.

Still, Hitsugaya turned to her, eyes warming, and waved. "See you tomorrow, Orihime." He looked past Orihime to where Matsumoto was standing. "Matsumoto, see you tomorrow."

Matsumoto looked up and gave him a smile with half of its natural brilliance. "See you, taichou!"

His gaze flickered to the ground for a moment, then he nodded. As he walked away and Orihime called more _see yous_, he put up a hand to wave. Orihime didn't close the door until he disappeared around the corner.

Turning to Matsumoto, Orihime thrust her arms into the air and stretched contentedly. "That was fun! I really like cooking with you, Rangiku!"

Matsumoto repeated the smile. She hated to do it, but her brain was just overflowing, and she couldn't seem to make the proper facial expressions. "Your shaved ice was delicious," she said, noticing that it sounded like an apology.

Orihime proved that she was not obtuse in the least. "Is something on your mind?"

Matsumoto hesitated. She said quietly, indicating that they retreat farther into the house, "Let's get ready for bed."

Orihime just smiled and nodded, then headed off to use the bathroom first. She finished quickly, coming out in a sleep shirt and pajama pants patterned in sheep. Matsumoto went to the bathroom next, in silence. She brushed her teeth a bit too hard, and thought about how to tell Orihime all that she wanted to tell. When she came out, hair down, clad in an oversized shirt, Orihime was pulling back the covers of her makeshift bed. She insisted on sleeping on the floor. Matsumoto was thinking of kicking her out and forcing her to sleep on the bed.

She joined Orihime on the floor. She lay on her stomach. "I haven't told you about my love life lately."

Orihime smiled kindly. "It's alright. You are now, aren't you?"

Matsumoto felt a bit of pressure lift from her conscious. Orihime made things so easy. "I like a guy," she said, then paused, looking up at Orihime, "But he doesn't like me back."

Orihime was sitting Indian-style, and propped her elbow on her knee so she could lean her cheek into her palm. "What makes you think that?"

She tucked some hair behind her ear. "He told me he's not ready. And I told him I'd wait for him."

Orihime nodded, seeming to comprehend the situation quickly. "How are you doing?"

"To be honest," Matsumoto gave a fragile smile, "It's killing me."

Orihime's mouth and brow contorted with a bit of pain for her friend.

Matsumoto held her arms tightly around her chest and spoke to the blanket beside her foot. "It's getting hard for me to act proper around him. I just... I like him so much. I want to grab him and tell him to like me back, already," she laughed a self-conscious laugh, darting her gaze nervously over to Orihime and back to the blanket. "Who knows if he'll ever come to like me that way."

Matsumoto was surprised when Orihime touched her arm. She looked up, and Orihime's soft, encouraging face was right there.

"Just be yourself," Orihime said. And though it could've been the most cliched advice in the history of the world, Matsumoto truly and deeply believed in it, and in Orihime.

In the morning when Matsumoto woke up, she felt better than ever, even though she had slept on the floor next to Orihime. She smiled. Neither of them had ended up taking the bed.

* * *

"Good morning, taichou!" Matsumoto greeted happily, late by a mere five minutes that morning. She came in toting a sizeable container - her mochi container. She plopped it down right next to Hitsugaya's customary cup of green tea.

"Oi, Matsumoto," he began slowly, "What's with the early-morning mochi?"

Matsumoto blinked at him in astonishment. "Taichou, I figured I could keep them on _your_ desk today. It's much bigger than mine."

Hitsugaya glared at her in a subdued fashion. She turned away to her desk, missing his grumbled, "What am I? A storage facility?"

It was nearly ten minutes before Hitsugaya looked over and saw exactly what Matsumoto was doing. She was leaning back in her chair, feet up on her desk, and cradling a magazine in one hand and a cup of green tea in the other. He watched her blue eyes speed down the page for about ten seconds before speaking up. "Matsumoto. I don't think that's work."

He was ignored. Matsumoto put down her tea and turned a page.

This got under Hitsugaya's skin a little more than usual. This, plus all her behaviour as of late... all her behaviour _toward him_...

Hitsugaya cleared his throat. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou?"

"Yes, taichou?" she said distractedly.

"Where's Orihime?"

Matsumoto stared with a little more intensity than usual at a part of a page, mouthing words to herself. Then she looked up, replying, "She's visiting Rukia. Ichigo's supposed to come visit today."

He hadn't known that. How did Matsumoto know that? He crossed his arms. "When is he arriving?"

She shrugged.

Discontent, he pressed her further. "How long is Ichigo staying for?"

She flipped a page, then flipped back, then flipped again. "I think he's going back when Orihime does." She went on reading.

He nearly huffed, but stopped himself and relaxed into his chair. Determined to calm down - just _why_ was he so riled up anyway? - he took his cup of tea in hand.

Just then, a loud slurping broke the silence. He whipped his head up at light speed to see Matsumoto drinking from her own cup.

Disgruntled, he put his cup down and pulled his sleeve up. No tea, then. Soutaichou needed his opinion on the latest addition of plum trees to the Seireitei gardens. He'd actually found the time to stroll through the gardens, and they were really-

_Sluuuurrrp._

Hitsugaya's mouth bent into a frown and his gaze shot up to his lounging lieutenant. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou."

Matsumoto actually looked up at him over her magazine, which he had not expected, her lashes fluttering in an imitation of innocence. Her mouth quirked to the side. "Yes, taichou?"

He felt his throat dry up. He coughed, cleared his throat, then he said, "Matsumoto, could I speak with you for a moment?"

To his satisfaction, she closed her magazine, stood, and walked over to his desk. To his dissatisfaction, she went over to her mochi container and began to untie the cloth it was bundled in.

He chose to ignore it. He could talk to her like this casually still. He watched her fingers maneuver over the series of knots she had tied, slim and graceful.

"Matsumoto, you've been tardy getting into the office lately. Do you agree?"

She smiled easily and brightly. "Absolutely, taichou. Except for today."

"Five minutes is late." He crossed his arms.

"No, it's not. Any more than that and I'm legitimately late. But everyone knows that within five minutes is fine." As she detailed this unspoken rule to him, her hair fell from its place behind her ear, stirring the air with the smell of her shampoo.

He sat in mild shock. Had she just argued with him, as little as the matter was? What had happened to not wanting to overstep? What had happened to not seeming overbearing?

He stood, his chair scraping the floor loudly. He grabbed her wrist, and fixed her widened eyes with his own.

What about her hair, up in that ponytail? What about the way she sang like a pop star? He tightened his hold on her.

_Don't forget that you love me!_

His gaze faltered when she grinned. She unfroze herself, taking the top off of her mochi container. He slowly looked down into the collection of assorted mochi.

It was arranged in the shape of a heart.

He looked up. She was smiling absolutely brilliantly.

He unfroze.

And then he wanted to scoff. Heart-shaped food. It was just so _Matsumoto_.

It was a long time coming, but he just couldn't stop himself to arrange the perfect moment. As it was, he tugged her by the wrist, and when she fell forward, he was there to take her in his arms and hug her. He registered her arms making their way around him, too.

But after a brief moment, Matsumoto prodded his back. "Uh, taichou? I'm leaning over your desk. This kind of hurts."

Abruptly shy, he let her go, and they both bent back onto their sides of his desk. But then Matsumoto was bounding around the corner and crushing his cheek to her bosom, and all was right with the world again. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her.

When she pulled away, he saw a devious spark in her eye. He knew her well enough to expect something...

And something it was. He hadn't blinked before she put her lips on his. He felt her kiss all the way to his toes. His eyes slipped shut.

Their kiss ended once the shoji screen slid open and revealed Ichigo standing in its frame. "Wow, didn't expect to find you guys going at it, even if Inoue told me," Ichigo said in greeting.

Hitsugaya's hand remained at Matsumoto's hip. He was barely recovered from the dizzying kiss, but he still barked out, "Orihime told you what?"

Ichigo scratched the back of his head carelessly. "That you guys got together. What else?"

Matsumoto's eyes narrowed, but the side of her mouth pulled up into a smirk. Hitsugaya's brow furrowed deeper.

Orihime appeared behind Ichigo in the doorframe. "Hey! Good to see you together, Rangiku, Toushirou!"

Hitsugaya frowned and indicated that Orihime enter the room with a beckoning finger. Matsumoto cast a helpless look Ichigo's way, and waved him in too.

"Orihime..." Hitsugaya began, intending to segue into a reprimand. Upon the sight of her smiling face though, and Matsumoto's just over her shoulder, Hitsugaya reined it all in. He rolled his eyes at himself. "Thank you, Orihime."

"It was no trouble, Toushirou," she replied simply.

His remaining indignation ebbed away. "I'll... be sad to see you return to the material world."

She flushed pink. "I'm just glad Kurosaki came to escort me back."

A lightbulb flashed on in Hitsugaya's brain. Cogs and wheels went turning. He kept himself composed. "That's nice of him. How long do we have before you leave?"

Orihime ran her thumb over the lace hem of her skirt. Hitsugaya looked at her sandalled feet. She had painted her toes ballet slipper pink. He nearly pulled a Chesire Cat grin. "We're staying another week."

Hitsugaya nodded in response to this. He called to Matsumoto, who was currently immersed in conversation with Ichigo, "Matsumoto, a word?"

Matsumoto excused herself and made her way over to Hitsugaya by the bookshelves. "Taichou?"

"Orihime and Ichigo. We have one week."

Matsumoto picked up on this immediately. "I'm so glad you're thinking what I'm thinking."

Hitsugaya shared in her smile. "Oh, and Matsumoto?"

"Yes?"

"Kareoke tonight?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
